


Inverted Redemption

by This_is_my_truth



Series: Inverted Redemption [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Gay, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-09-02 04:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 45
Words: 78,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20270059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_my_truth/pseuds/This_is_my_truth
Summary: John is on the cusp of 16, having been by Arthur's side for four years they have developed an unbreakable bond. Yet with that comes questioning looks, one's Arthur cannot abide.  John needs to grow into a man and Arthur is driven to support him as his brother. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. A bit of lubrication

Arthur Morgan functioned like the finest of Swiss watches. His complex mechanisms all moved together in harmony, wrapped up in a seductive shell, earning him the position of right-hand man in the Van der Linde gang. Dutch, their leader, knew to keep his favourite timepiece in near perfect condition, every now and then he required a bit of lubrication. That is how Arthur found himself outside a saloon, ready to duel.

“S’cuse me, partner” Arthur had nonchalantly said, aware he’d walked into someone. 

“Watch where you’re going, you drunken idiot!” The stranger yelled. Arthur previously noted the loud Irish accent several hours before, but the arrogance confirmed his suspicions, _ An O’Driscoll _. 

“Idiot, no doubt about it, your father should have pulled out sooner.” Arthur smirked, knowing he’d raised the man’s ire. The stranger failed to notice the warmth drain from Arthur’s eyes as they rolled, setting on murderous intent.

“That’s it, outside!” The Irish man screeched. Both men walked with gusto, promptly finding themselves on the main street of the small town called Valentine. To the untrained eye, Arthur appeared rash and quick to anger, shoot first and to hell with the consequences. To think this was to underestimate Arthur. He prided himself on his refined ability to calculate risk, to interpret surroundings and analyse situations and most of all, to read people.

Being in town was high risk, law-abiding eyes were everywhere, not the usual place to engage in a potentially lethal fight. The sun shone through the cracks of the buildings and the Sheriffs office was only three down from the Saloon. Arthur had imbibed enough to dull his senses. 

A cool breeze tickled the dirty blond hairs on his neck, it confirmed to Arthur he was still sharp enough to engage in this folly. The individual in front of him, stance poised for his gun, was merely a boy. _ Reminds _ _ me _ _ of _ _ John, _Arthur thought to himself. He should be smacking his arse for being so god damn stupid and not taking his life.

Arthur emboldened by his superiority over the younger man, quickly glanced around. The town of Valentine only had one Sheriff and a Deputy, both Morgan’s were missing from the hitching post. He could feel the breeze picking up against his skin, defeating the strength of a weakening sun, dusk, so the streets were expectantly empty, keeping witnesses at a minimum. The saloon owner who knew Arthur as reliable, if not one of his more transient patrons, would vouch for him. While young, his target was definitely an O’Driscoll and they were a special breed who didn’t deserve Arthurs restraint. 

The hand of the timepiece that is Arthur Morgan tantalisingly ticked forward. Arthur heard the crack of a shot ringing around the buildings before he knew he had fired it. The ashen metallic smoke of his revolver tickled his taste buds, reviving him slightly back to the present. He was already moving towards his prized horse Boadicea when the thud of the body met with the mud. He Smiled, caressing the thick black mane of his mount, his eyes rolled back, filling with warmth as he hastened to his escape.

Arthur and Boadicea galloped south, tracking back several times in case they were followed. The breeze pinched coolly at his cheeks, shaking the final cobwebs of his afternoon of drink. The sun dipped lower, the last of burnt orange gave way to darkness, with the first few stars beginning to fill the night canopy. Clear nights like these were special to Arthur, the chirps of cricket’s and cicada broke the silence. Isolation was a gift very few of his family appreciated, when presented with the opportunity Arthur embraced it.

“There you go, girl.” Arthur patted Boadicea as he gave her the last of his wild carrots, she nickered her gratitude, gently nudging her head to his.

The crackle of fire whispered into the air; Arthur settled in his one-man tent. The warm glow could usher sleep so freely but not before Arthur completed his daily ritual of updating his journal. Dispatching his day to prose in reasonable timing, taking a life was always noted, but very rarely did it stir Arthur’s conscience. A whisky bottle, half emptied, was retrieved from his satchel. He didn’t really fancy another drink, but it became a dance. Tomorrow he would return to camp smelling of whiskey, and everyone would assume he’d spent the night in town with a woman. The lubrication his leader supposed he needed.

The gentle flow of the river, the odd ripple caused by fish nipping for their dinner, Boadicea’s hooves dislodging the shale. The perfect lullaby for a wayward outlaw, more at one with nature than supposed civilisation. Arthur’s muscles relaxed in his small tent, placing his satchel under his head, pulling his hat over his eyes, he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Nightime Intruder

Arthur woke to the shimmying of dislodged shale underfoot, he lay still waiting for confirmation. The sound crept nearer, it was definitely a foot, not a hoof. Without moving, he unsheathed his revolver from his gun belt, silently cocking the hammer.

“ARTHUR!” a voice called from the darkness; he didn’t move.

“Arthur?” the voice whispered through the flap of the tent. Arthur recognised the voice, there was only one person that produced such a girlish whine.

“John...what the hell!” Arthur kicked the flaps of the tent; the dying embers of the fire enough to reveal the silhouette of John. “I could have shot you!” Arthur waved his revolver, emphasising the seriousness of creeping up on the sleeping outlaw.

“Can I come in?” John asked, hesitantly. Arthur huffed in annoyance; the answer didn’t matter; John was coming in either way.

“Sure” Arthur’s drawl relented to the inevitable. Within a second, the skittish colt that was John fought for space in the one-man tent. Arthur shuffled to create room but was too slow for the awkward flailing of _ John bloody Marston _. Arthur rubbed his neck, craving patience, remembering the awkwardness of transitioning from a child to a man. He would not concede that he was ever this bad, even when Dutch and Hosea tried to remind him. He was adamant they exaggerated for John’s benefit. Arthur reached for his gaslight, a warm glow removing the darkness, settling against the silence that enveloped the dusty brown walls of the tent. Arthur’s brain ticked with pertinent questions; How_ did you find me? Why did you find me? What the hell are you doing out of camp on your own this late at night? _ He knew pressing could end in an argument that would result in John storming off. Arthur was not up for chasing him around this late at night.

_Silence it is _. John couldn’t be silent for long, it was not in his nature, any thought had to be spoken in a lightning-quick speed. The sooner the moron spilt his thoughts, the sooner Arthur could get some sleep. John shuffled slightly, his hands resting on his stomach. Thumbs tracing around each other, a mop of greasy black hair concealing his large doe eyes. Arthur inhaled deeply, catching the fresh wooded pine smell of the boy, it was always homely. He shook the thought this was not the time to get caught in nostalgia, he braced for whatever revelation John was about to depart.

“I had a nightmare....and you weren’t there.” John’s thumbs continued their dance, his words hung in the air. Arthur held his tongue; this was partly his fault. When John first joined the gang, his nightmares consumed every night. The whole camp knew as John was no quieter in his dreams than he was awake. The women of camp coddled him in the beginning, taking turns soothing him. As time went on and the dreams didn’t relent, the women started to withdraw their comfort. Arthur agreed, tough love was needed, but his tent was next to John’s and the choked whines of the young boy near broke his heart. He found himself staying awake, to listen out for the boy as he thrashed and murmured.

“Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” A mantra of horrors that Arthur knew too well, having lived on the streets before Dutch and Hosea had found him. Arthur’s stoic resolve lasted a week, one night he cracked. Rushing into John’s tent with all the grace of a bull, he damn near frightened the boy to death, leering over him in the darkness. Those eyes full of fear, even towards Arthur, knotted the older man’s stomach. He vowed as he took John in his arms and cradled him that he would always protect him.

Arthur mused the problem was John in appearance was now a man and should behave like one. The dreams may still come, but they should be managed and dismissed as memory and nothing more. John never seems to learn or adapt. _ What is he going to do if he finds a woman, leave her bed and cuddle up with me every time he has a nightmare? _ Arthur thought to himself _ . _ Some of the new arrivals in the camp were aware of the strange nocturnal movements, his cheeks shaded pink remembering. Javier, the latest gang member from Mexico, walking in on them cuddled together on his cot... _ it wasn’t appropriate. _He couldn’t delay the talk anymore, and it was better to be outside of camp away from the others.

“John...?” Arthur said with hesitation, adjusting slightly, facing the situation head-on. John’s doe eyes, reminiscent of the fear he had the first time they shared a bedroll, looked up with such pathetic need that Arthur knew this was going to hurt both of them.

“John, you are growing into a man and...” Arthur, as usual, struggled to find the words, wishing he was more eloquent, like his adoptive fathers. John frowned, unsure what his growth had to do with his nightmare. Arthur continued, “You will always be my brother, and you know I love you, like a _ brother.” _ _ unsure why he laboured that point _ “but we can’t keep doing this.” He mentally kicked himself for being so backwards with his words, John needed clear direction.

John’s frown intensified, “What do you mean, doing what?” _Typical John Marston _ , play the fool, forcing him to do the hard work. “Sharing a cot.” _ To the point. _

“But we don’t always share...just when I have nightmares”. Arthur stuttered his breath, like communicating with a child.

“Yes, I know that, and you know that, but now you’re a man, others, well, they see things differently.” Arthur shifted, releasing the stress from his muscles.

“What’s it to do with them?” John snapped back petulantly.

“Look, John, the world ain’t a kind place, even the suggestion of _ that _ can stick and cause havoc.” Arthur gesticulated to emphasise what _ that _ meant.

“Why would anyone think _ that? _” John mimicked Arthur, emphasising his growing disdain for the conversation. Arthur gently closed his eyes, hiding from the young man’s glare. John was nearing sixteen, and there is no way he was that naïve. He was not that naïve, John’s other nocturnal activities meant he knew the physiology, if not the meaning behind it. Arthur was cursing Dutch and Hosea, they should be the ones having this conversation.

“Is that why you stay away from camp?” John’s voice cracked with emotion.

“No John, I stay away for my own reasons, its nothing to do with you.” Arthur pressed a hand on John’s shoulder, trying to contain the angst that was bubbling in him. _ Kid _ _ gloves _, Arthur thought to himself.

“You don’t convince anyone you know; we know you are not in town with _ women _.” Arthur glared trying to conceal his anger at the revelation, John was in attack mode. Arthur was more concerned that his charade was up, and he would have to explain his regular nighttime absences.

“John...sometimes men love men like most men love women.” Arthur took a deep breath. “You keep sneaking into my cot at night everyone gonna think you’re the former and not the latter.” John looked stunned, he rolled away from Arthur, unable to speak, tremors rippling through his frame. Arthur remained silent, giving John time to process. John stifled a cry.

“How can you think I am like those perverts; you know what they did to me?” There it was, the heart-breaking pain that Arthur knew this conversation would bring. Arthur struggled, Johns flailing arms protesting, as he turned the younger man to face him.

“How could you think that, John? You know that isn’t what I mean?” He absorbed the rage and hurt John emitted. Arthur broke, the sight of bloodshot eyes partially concealed by greasy hair. He tenderly placed the wayward strands behind John’s ear.

“I am not suggesting that you are like those men who hurt you, they were monsters, you were a child. I am letting you know that when a man is grown, he can choose and there is nothing wrong with that choice, you love who you want to love, but the world don’t see it that way.” Arthur kneaded the back of John’s neck, a technique he used countless times to calm him.

“I like women, I know I like women.” John sniffed in protest. Arthur pressed their bodies together, speaking earnestly about how perception is often mistaken for truth.

“I can’t believe the camp think I am like that?” John finally conceded to the reality of what Arthur was telling him.

“Don’t worry about it, I am sure most don’t think you are like that, just consider what it looks like.” Arthur cupped Johns chin, raising it slightly to make eye contact. “This has to be the last time John, that doesn’t mean I don’t love you or care about you, just means things need to change because you are a man.” John nodded, Arthur yawned, both were drained. Holding him, inhaling the intoxicating blend of burnt wood and fresh pine, always felt natural. Arthur wished they could be like this forever, John would never grow-up, and Arthur would always be there to protect him, as an older brother should. Arthur’s lids were heavy with sleep, but John’s mind could not switch off.

“Can you take me to visit a woman?” John whispered breathlessly

“When you’re older” Arthur patted his shoulder ushering the conversation to an end. Arthur remained awake until he felt the stillness of John’s sleeping body. His face twitched with the gentlest of smiles, he still didn’t know how John found him out in the wilderness?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments let me know what you think.


	3. Growing Up

Arthur woke in agony, being John Marston’s pillow will do that. He lay there assessing his aches and pains, one of which dug into his hip. His eyes scanned down, slowly connecting the dots. “John get up!” Arthur said sternly. “What Arthur, lemme sleep.” John whined still dozing. Arthur never warned twice and pushed the boy to the side and made his escape from the tent. He didn’t follow, much to his frustration, John was not a morning person.

Arthur’s stomach growled, the whiskey from the night before gnawing at his insides. He didn’t have the patience to fish, even this close to the river, so set off to snare him and John a rabbit or bird for breakfast. Leaving John to sleep off his morning glory.

“Get up John, breakfast is ready.” Arthur kicked at John’s boot. John rose from the tent, hair covering his face as his wolf eyes adjusted to the light. John had all of two settings, soft or hard, doe or wolf, there was never any nuance, in the mornings the wolf reigned supreme. John was always hard, grumpy, tired and easy to rile, the selfish look in his eyes the indicator of his mood.

“God Arthur, why you always got to be up with the lark!” John said boorishly

“Its 10 am, John if you sleep any later the century will have turned. Besides, you know, they will come looking eventually.” Arthur tore strips of meat from the bird he caught, handing John a canteen with just under half. He sat back, devouring his own portion. A hungry John was not worth communicating with.

“Why would they be out searching for a pair of inverts like us!” John snapped back. Arthur threw him a scowl, the type reserved for those about to die but John was too hurt to be intimidated. “I didn’t say that John, don’t be putting words in my mouth and _ keep your voice down anyone could hear. _” His whispered drawl emphasising his disdain.

“It’s what you meant.” John huffed quietly.

“No John, as usual, you missed the point entirely, I meant we looked like a pair of inverts, I didn’t say we were a pair of inverts, well not me anyhow.” Arthur picked an errant bone from his bird meat, throwing it to the shoreline, watching it land, he dwelled on the rushing water of the river, an attempt to ignore John’s wolfish manner

“We is or we ain’t?” John protested, knowing he was pushing Arthur’s patience but unwilling to let it lie.

“World ain’t that black and white, there are plenty of shades of grey. It would be a stupid man that got himself killed for being something they ain’t, is that what you want John?” Arthur was done with the conversation, as usual, a simple nudge in the right direction had worked through John’s brain and come out twisted.

Arthur cleaned up the small campsite, ignoring John scowling at him. He readied the horses, giving them some berries as a treat. Arthur mounted Boadicea and set off without John, _ the fool would follow, no need to encourage _. Arthur was not too rash to think any of this was settled, he knew this was a chain reaction that could last for days, weeks or months. It made Arthur muse, there was no telling which way this current chain would branch off, no preparing for what would come out of his mouth next, what nonsense he would tell others. A shudder went down his spine thinking of John walking into camp shouting out inverts. No understanding of the consequences and Arthur would tie himself up in knots, trying to explain his innocence. Arthur could kill a man with lighting quick speed and precision but educating John was an impossible task.

They set off South under the nearing mid-day sun, there was no breeze this time of day, so no option to set the pace without exhausting the horses. Arthur was impatient to get back to camp, ridding himself of his night time intruder but the enforced silence between them was actually enjoyable. Giving Arthur a chance to view the rugged terrain, the tips of the Caliban’ seat rose mightily into the heavens. The valley floor tinged purple from the first sprouting heathers, a sign winter was coming. The spring goslings down had shed revealing maturing adults preparing to fly south for warmer climes. Arthur enjoyed it so much he considered sewing Johns mouth shut when they returned. The thought tickled him.

“Arthur?” John whined

“Talking to me now?” Arthur chuckled; John couldn’t even be patient enough to stay angry.

“What’s it like to sleep with a woman?” Arthur shook his head, _ of course, this is where it would go _. A quick chat about the inappropriateness of them sharing a bed would obviously lead to a conversation about the most intimate moments two people could share.

“Well ...urgh... I mean.” Arthur tipped his hat, concealing his blushing cheeks from the boy. He just didn’t have the words. Not without a considerable amount of whiskey. John frowned impatiently. Arthur glanced over, his steel-blue eyes warmed slightly, acknowledging there was no way out.

“It’s special, like nothing I can compare it to.” Arthur rubbed the back of his tanned neck, hoping that was enough.

“No! not the emotional stuff, like what you supposed to do?” John had no sense of shame, if it was on his mind, it was instantly on his lips and in the air.

“I told you, you are still young, you don’t need to know about it yet.” Again, Arthur hoped that would be the end.

“But I won’t be too young forever, and you always tell me not to jump straight into things that I should practice.” John whined. John frustrated Arthur most in these moments, acting cloth-eared when really he absorbed everything and then used his own words against him. John _ stupid _ Marston was not as stupid as he appeared.

“Its not something I can help you with, but we can ask Miss Grimshaw when we get back to camp?” Arthur rumbled with laughter at the thought.

“Urgh Arthur, if I wasn’t inverted before, I think I might be now.” John laughed, knowing his brother had won the battle again. John could be a smartass when he wanted to be, but Arthur broke him with his quips. Arthur smiled intensely, they always got there in the end, and if it weren’t so painful, then they wouldn’t have so much fun making up. He ruffled John’s messy hair, receiving a gentle swipe from the younger man. They rolled back into camp laughing, everyone was waiting on their haunches ready to pounce, angry they had been missing for so long. John was instantly put on chores by the formidable Susan Grimshaw, while Arthur waited patiently to be chastised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments


	4. Lessons

“Arthur, Dutch wants to see you.” Arthur snapped his journal shut, concealing it under his cot. The afternoon sun was bowing in the sky, casting rays of ethereal beauty across the camp. The leaves rustling in the trees were beckoning Autumn, Arthurs favourite season, the season of harvest and plentiful bounty. The time the hunter in Arthur thrived, to gather for his family, ensuring their survival through the long winter months. At least this year they were further south, so the harvest didn’t have to start just yet. The waft of stew sat in the air, making his stomach rumble, the perfect time for Dutch to punish him for John’s behaviour.

“Dutch, you wanted to see me?” Arthur popped his head into his leader’s far grander tent, his eyes were instantly drawn to the wiry grey-haired man sat on the cot. Hosea was there, _ double trouble. _

“Sit down, son.” Dutch beckoned. Arthur took his usual position on a small wooden stool; his since he was John’s age. Dutch’s appetites were for the finer things that life had to offer, the best cigars, the finest brandy. His tent looked more like a plantation house than a tent, except for the small wooden stool, it shrunk his size and made him feel like a child again.

“We are not mad son.” Hosea began to speak, always measured. “We just need to know what happened last night?” Dutch hastily interrupted. Arthur wanted to shrug and suggest John was better placed to answer, but then he flashed back to John’s inverted outburst and thought against.

“Nothing Dutch” Arthur knew that it was better to be closed in these situations, get out of them what they think and then defend that position. Both men stared at each other, almost knowingly.

“Now come on son, John snuck out of camp last night and then you both roll in past mid-day giggling like naughty children, up to no good?” Arthur smirked, of course, they thought it was planned, it looked planned.

“I found him wandering about miles away from camp, looking for me. We were too far out to get back, and you know John is a lazy shit in the morning.” Dutch lit his thick cigar, a tell Arthur knew to mean they were getting serious.

“Why was he looking for you?” Arthur wrapped his arms around himself defensively. “I don’t know....” He trailed off, not wanting to admit the truth. He could see his father’s smouldering eyes burning holes into his soul. The ultimate feeling of treachery that Arthur could not stomach, he was loyal to his fathers always.

“He had a nightmare and couldn’t find me.” Arthur cringed at the words he was a grown man for God sake, he shouldn’t feel so childish. Dutch and Hosea looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing. Arthur raised his brow in confusion. “What’s so funny?” Arthur didn’t understand, were they laughing because they didn’t believe him.

“Oh son, why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” Hosea managed to contain himself. Arthur shrugged, it was always like this, Arthur trying to second guess their minds and getting it wrong.

“You have stitched yourself up good, and proper” Dutch howled. “What do you mean?” Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle as their laughter was infectious. “We stopped Annabelle and Bessy from coddling the boy as we knew he would become too attached, then you, you great moron had to take over.” Hosea slapped his knee tears running down his eyes.

“You brought this on yourself son, the boy is well and truly attached.” Arthur scowled, he didn’t enjoy being the butt of a joke. “Its not funny, I was trying to do the right thing.” He rose from his small stool, trying to regain some power over the two. “And we love you for it, we almost cracked ourselves, we were so glad when you stepped in.” Hosea calmed slightly, aware of Arthurs growing annoyance.

“Well it stops, he’s a man now, he can’t be running around in the night looking for me.” Arthur’s eyes rolled cold; he was serious. Hosea knew the levity to be over, but Dutch was too stubborn to let it go.

“Oh Arthur, John might be growing, but he still has the mind of a child, and everyone finds it sweet the way you comfort him, even Javier comments, papa Arthur, he calls you.” Hosea placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him. His eyes warmed and then saddened. Arthur gulped, he had read the situation so wrong and knew he had to come clean. His fathers were the only ones that could advise him on the mess he created.

“I told him it looked wrong, two grown men sleeping together.” Arthur huffed. Dutch’s chuckles stopped immediately. 

“Arthur,” Hosea said tenderly, “No one sees John as a man, he is still a child, with his childish questioning and his tantrums. John still needs your comfort, and we all see that and are all grateful to you for the love you show that boy.” Arthur closed his eyes, they always did this, always made him feel guilty, he interpreted wrong again, and the damage was done.

"I might have implied he needed to start thinking about women?” Arthur said Dutch interjected, “Too soon son, don’t start putting ideas in his head.” _ Too late. _

“I was his age when you had the talk with me.” Arthur said defensively “We had to with you, to save Dutch’s book collection on Renaissance art” Hosea smirked enjoying the memory. Dutch pointed to the now slightly ruined books, clearly not enjoying the memory “You were given those for your art, some of those pages won’t unstick.” Arthur’s stomach rolled from embarrassment, he had forgotten about his nocturnal stirrings and Dutch’s books were always to hand.

“Again, Arthur, you have saved us a job, he is still too young to be with a woman, but you can answer all the awkward questions.” Dutch proudly proclaimed the punishment. Arthur shook his head in disbelief, he had stitched himself up again.

“Come now, I smell that stew.” Dutch-led them out of the tent, Arthur followed feeling four feet tall


	5. Wanton

Arthur wanted to do right by John and the family, spending the proceeding days and nights trying to think how he could counsel John in the ways of wooing without dying of embarrassment. He wrote in his journal: _ Why did I get so carried away, concerned about what other people think rather than doing the one thing I am supposed to do, protect John. I need to make amends preparing him for what’s to come, answer those awkward questions like Dutch and Hosea did for me at that age. _

John was doing his chores when Arthur rose from his tent. “Morning sleeping beauty, everything alright?” Hosea called from over his paper. “Yeah” it was unusual for Arthur to be last up, but he had spent the night preparing. Arthur poured a coffee and watched as John struggled to lift a pale of water. _ Still a kid _.

“Miss Grimshaw, can I borrow John this afternoon?” Her crushing gaze eyed him with suspicion, still riled from their previous unannounced excursion. “You can, but I don’t want you going too far?” Arthur nodded; he knew not to push his luck with the stern women. Arthur busied himself with chores around camp, working up the confidence to enact his plan. Eventually calling to John, ushering him to the trees beyond the field. The snapping of twigs in the brush stirred the silence between them, the younger man nervously followed a few feet behind the older, wanting to ask where they were going but deciding against. They came to a clearing, Arthur’s favourite place near the camp, it overlooked the Dakota. It had a felled tree that substituted for a seat.

“Sit down, John” Arthur ushered. John hesitated like he was in trouble. “Its fine John, there is nothing to worry about.” He placed a hand on John’s shoulder and made him sit. The warm afternoon breeze wrapped around them, the water lapped gently on the shore, and Arthur felt calm enough to proceed. He pulled his journal from his satchel and placed it on John’s lap. His doe eyes consumed its presence since Arthur can remember John wanted to read his journal, it was sacred. John’s fingers gently ghosted the leather-bound book, his softness towards it surprised Arthur.

“Can I read it?” John asked excitedly

“No and never, but open to the bookmark,” Arthur commanded. John looked perplexed but didn’t need telling twice. A double folded page fell open on his lap, and there was the most beautiful image he had ever set eyes on, so beautiful he could not bear to look at it. John’s cheeks flushed red, snapping the journal closed “Arthur...” he wined.

“John I can’t teach you if we don’t have material to learn from.” Arthur had prepared himself not to be bashful, he had to be strong for both of them if this was going to work. Taking control, he removed the journal from the young man’s hand and re-opened to the bookmarked page. It had taken a few attempts to draw it as it should be. A woman in full length, naked and wanton, her hips pointed out from the page, her breasts pert and round. Between her ample thighs, a small tuft of hair sprouted suggestively but revealed nothing more of the labyrinth of pleasure that lay below. The face was fresh, suggestive with joy, lips of cherry blossom and eyes of molten desire. It was pure and unadulterated; the most graphic image Arthur had drawn, and he had drawn it for John. John shifted closer his thigh, touching Arthur’s as they both stared in awe of the beauty that lay on paper before them.

“I never knew.” John whispered.

“Knew what?” Arthur inquired.

“How good you were at drawing” Arthur blushed; he was expecting confirmation around the anatomy of womanhood not a critique of his artistic endeavours.

“I drew it for you, how are you supposed to learn without a reference?” John’s fingers ghosted gently across the form, it made Arthur shudder. The second time John had shown care and respect outside of his nature, and it moved Arthur in a way he couldn’t describe. They sat silently for a moment before Arthur began.

“Women are gentle and delicate, to get them to a stage where they are willing to let you be intimate with them, you need to know which areas of their body arouse them.” Placing the book between them, he began to breakdown the erogenous zones of a woman. Lips, neck, ear, nipples. He explained in great detail the pressure, touch and lick and the elicit noises that were made when the contact was right. John almost fell apart as Arthur told his most intimate of rituals. How he would nip gently at a women’s lips and neck as he slipped his fingers across her nipple. Kisses would lead him along the collar bone, and then his tongue would lap the nipple as the hand migrated south. At no point would an area not be prepared ready for the arrival of his mouth. Arthur made sure to focus on the top half, knowing John was not prepared for the labyrinth between the legs and Arthur had not finished the drawing yet.

John listened intently, crossing his legs to try and hide his throbbing erection as Arthur scientifically dissected the act of foreplay. With every direction, John became lost in the image of Arthur’s lips, Arthur’s hands, Arthur’s body moving and contorting to bring pure pleasure. At first, it was being performed on the women in the image. She had come to life in his mind, making the sort of noises that John knew well but every so often a flash inappropriateness made him shudder. Arthur stopped and stared at his young protégé for any signs that it was too much or that he was not ready. John was quiet but engrossed, there was no suggestion that this was not helping. Arthur did his best not to acknowledge the bulge that sat between John’s legs if he was honest, he was trying hard to hide his own bulge. John could feel the heat enveloping him as those warm blue eyes studied his reactions.

“Grubs up” came the yell from camp. Arthur snapped the journal closed,

“That’s enough for one day.” John hesitated, he wanted to know more but wasn’t sure if he could handle it. They both stood up, turning their backs to each other and shaking their trousers to loosen the bulges. Hoping neither noticed the others compromising position. As they walked back towards camp. John said “Thank you, Arthur, I know...I know there are other things you would rather be doing.” Arthur reached in and gave John a gentle hug, gratitude from the young colt was such a rare thing, it should be savoured.


	6. A Day with Javier

Days rolled by without incident or question, on the rare occasions that Arthur and John were together, they would speak little but give each other knowing glances. Arthur felt warmed by it when they were younger; all they had was each other. The elders of the camp were too wrapped up in planning the next ruse to be interested in the workings of their young minds. Even at ten years older, Arthur still enjoyed the roughhousing, the snaring of animals, the plotting of dreams. They would look at Hosea’s map of legendary animals and plan how they would hunt and kill each one. It was agreed John had some growing to do before the dream could become a reality.

_That was the plan anyway _. Almost four years passed since those dreams were made. Life had pivoted for Arthur, a melancholy settled in his heart, an unspoken truth that was locked away so profoundly. To keep himself functioning, he sacrificed part of himself, his ability to love. John didn’t have the same appeal to him after that, the dreams they had were childish, life was cruel. John was still too young to understand that so Arthur did the responsible thing and pushed the boy away, as much as he could. Except when he had a nightmare, Arthur could never deny him that comfort.

“I’ve got word of some good hunting north of the Heartlands.” Javier approached Arthur with his bow and arrow ready. He nodded, rising from the campfire.

“Let me get my stuff, meet you at the horses.” moving swiftly packing his satchel with all he needed. They had not been out together since the young Mexican had joined. It felt right to spend some time bonding if they were going to outlaw together.

“Where you going?” John poked his head into the tent. Arthur paid him no mind as he finished checking, he had packed everything. He rushed past John towards the horses. “Can I come?” the younger man shouted after him.

“No!” Arthur was practically running to Boadicea, eager to get out of camp before he was given the job of babysitting. Grimshaw saw what was going on and knew too well that John would follow them, get lost or hurt, the boy was feral and untamed.

“Take him with you, Arthur, I don’t need him under my feet.” Susan protested.

“No!” Arthur called back, knowing he would pay for his bluntness. He placed his saddle on Boadicea, tightening the straps as quickly as he could. Boadicea nicked at his hat for his lack of tenderness.

“Don’t you start.” Arthur whispered to his mount. Javier had already mounted, watching the scene play out. It had been much the same since he joined, the only time he would see Arthur flustered and grizzly was when John was being forced on him. Javier looked over his shoulder to see the sullen eyes of the youngster forlorn like an abandoned pup.

“Come on, Arthur, it won’t hurt to take the boy.” Javier smiled as he said the words, knowing he would raise his ire.

“No” Arthur repeated. “He can’t hunt and will scare everything away.”

“He won’t learn if you don’t teach him.” Javier pressed, knowingly pushing his luck.

“I teach him more than enough, someone else can have that pleasure.” Arthur hitched up on Boadicea and trotted off. Javier shrugged. 

“Sorry kid, maybe next time.” He clicked and followed Arthur. The morning was fresh, dew still hung off the grass lifting the scent of musk into the air. Rabbits meandered in the fields, blind to potential predators, the landscape opened up revealing its beauty and bounty. Arthur made a mental note of each location of interest, yarrow, wild carrots and blackcurrant were in abundance.

His new hunting companion took a while to warm to, his style was rather rambunctious, a bowler hat dawned his head, which as a disguise made him stick out a mile. He had long black hair, much longer than John’s, but much neater and cleaner. Arthur could see what attracted Dutch to Javier, to invite him into the gang, they were cut from the same cloth.

“I suggest we cut up through Valentine, there is a great place to camp north of Fort Wallace.” Javier said. Arthur nodded in agreement; it was one of his favourite places this far east. The Dakota was wilder further north, the water broke violently against ancient stone, a raging force against an immovable object. It was how Arthur felt most days, though he was never sure which he was. After a few hours of travel, they stopped for some food and water for the horses. “Why are you so hard on the boy?” Javier broke the silence.

“I’m not hard on ’im, just need some space from time to time.” Arthur moved fluidly, determined not to invite further discussion on this point.

“Mmm ‘spose that makes sense, I think it’s sweet, he worships the ground you walk on.” Javier knew it would irk him to acknowledge it.

“He has been like it since we found him at twelve” Arthur sighed.

“You should be flattered, a protégé, reminds me of how you are with Dutch.” A shiver descended his spine, it was not the same.

“You been talking to Grimshaw?!” He glared at him suspiciously. Javier laughed; clearly, he was not the first one to observe the similarities, one’s that Arthur was too stubborn to give credence to.

“Arthur, I have spent most of my life running with the worst low life, men who would sooner kill you than say good morning. I came north because the bounty on my head meant I couldn’t trust my own gang not to betray me for the money. I was starting to think better the devil you know, and then I found Dutch, brought me into his family, found a family full of warmth and care for each other. Love in the world of outlaws is tough to find.”

Arthur didn’t respond, he had always appreciated what Dutch and Hosea had done for him and John. Life could have been so different for both of them if their fathers hadn’t adopted them.

“Be grateful for what you got, Arthur.” Javier said thoughtfully. Gratitude is a hard-won thing for him to accept, easier to say, harder to show. Arthur had not demonstrated enough penance for his past ingratitude to be warm towards his current circumstances, he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve two fathers that loved him, and he certainly didn’t deserve Johns idolisation. He was a bad man and deserved to be treated as such if everyone just accepted the notion he had of himself, then life would be more comfortable. They pressed on again, aiming to be camped in Ambarino before dusk. Passing by the fort, Arthur could sense there was something wrong, his partner seemed pensive. 

“You ok?” he manoeuvred Boadicea alongside him. 

“Yes brother, just got a feeling.” Javier looked behind them back towards the fort. Arthur habitually drew his revolver, expecting trouble.

“Are you good at tracking?” Javier asked as he reached for the barrel of the outlaws gun and lowered it.

“Done some with Hosea, wouldn’t call me an expert.” He was perplexed, unable to sense any danger.

“So you wouldn’t know if you were being tracked?” Javier was acting strangely, and it unnerved Arthur.

“I know how to cover my tracks but didn’t think it was necessary on a hunting trip.” He scanned the horizon but couldn’t see anything to suggested they were being followed. 

“Follow me, we need to conceal ourselves.” Leaving the road, they hitched the horses out of sight and then hid behind a boulder.

“What is it, bounty hunters? Army? The price on my head isn’t that high.” Arthur protested and was quickly shushed by the Mexican. Time seemed to stand still as they waited patiently, the sound of hooves gently trotting grew nearer. Arthur could not bring himself to look until they got closer. He cocked his gun in preparation, but Javier was having none of it, for a second time lowering the barrel. The hooves finally came to a stop, the owner still unknown. Javier leapt from the spot with force, catching Arthur off guard. He rose up, ready to shoot whoever was tracking them. 


	7. A moment of madness

“Marston…What the Hell!” Arthur bellowed, tensing around the handle of his gun; adrenaline pumping with no opportunity for release. Javier was laughing, “I knew it was you, John, I could smell you before I saw you.”  
  
Arthur walked at a pace to the mount and pulled John unceremoniously to the ground. “I told you no John, why do you never listen?” he was close to hitting him when Javier intervened. “Don’t be hard on him Arthur, he just wanted to have some fun.” John raised his fists to protect his face, his eyes tightly closed, anticipating the impending pounding, the strength of the man, as he had him half airborne meant he could do no more.  
  
After moments of nothing, John dared to open his eyes, catching the steely gaze of his brother, while not beating him he had yet to sheath his anger and John knew it. “Go home, John!” Arthur snarled as he let go, John, landing on his arse in the dirt.  
  
“Arthur!” John whined the whine, snapped his tolerance, he would not back down, not this time. He picked John up and roughly placed him back on his mount, Jezebel, without pause, he slapped the steed sending it bolting off in the direction it had arrived.  
  
John wasn’t appropriately seated as Jezebel galloped away. He began to fall, shifting his weight slightly in an attempt to save himself. The horse bucked in frustration, sending John flying backwards, his foot trapped in his stirrup. Jezebel sped up, unable to dislodge the unwanted weight.  
  
Javier didn’t move, shocked at how this had escalated; how one reckless act, entirely out of character, led to such danger. Arthur swiftly mounted Boadicea, his muscles twitched with guilt. A second of remorse flashed across his face, instantly suppressed, his eyes rolled grey, his focus set on saving John.  
  
Jezebel was speeding towards the cliff edge, John attempted to dislodge his foot, but the pace was too much, his body battered and scratched by all the detritus. John’s heart beating through his chest as sickness rose in his belly. He had only known this terror once before, at the end of a noose. The boy squeezed his eyes shut, the tears mixed with dust, dirtying his face. He could feel death pacing alongside him, determined to get him this time.  
  
Arthur thrashed Boadicea, he couldn’t see John through the dust but knew he was getting closer, Jezebel wasn’t built for speed. Still, the few seconds advantage were proving challenging to chase down. He planned to get alongside her and turn her away from the cliff edge. Time slowed as Arthur realised, he wasn’t going to make it.  
  
“Arthur!!!” John screamed as his horse turned to avoid the cliff edge, his foot dislodging from the stirrup, inertia propelling him forward. Arthur launched himself off Boadicea, who slid to a stop, while loyal had no intention of following her master.   
  
“John!!!” Arthur screamed with authority, hoping it would prompt the boy into evasive action.  
  
Javier arrived a few seconds later, having watched the folly play out. Arthurs body lay perilously over the edge of the cliff, his legs wrapped around a small bush to keep him from slipping. “Arthur…” he said “Where’s John?” a quiver in his voice betraying his thoughts for the worst. Arthur grunted, his eyes were fixed, a grimace moved across his face as his arms stretched into the cavernous expanse. The ache was welcome, he stared down at the clean lines where the tears had washed the dust away, those doe eyes stared back at him, terrified as ever.  
  
“Give me a hand, Javier, pull John up!” Javier sighed with relief, quickly dismounting to join the pair. “Give me your other hand John, it’s alright.” John winced as he tried to raise his left arm up. “Can’t, I think it is broken.” he cried out at the thought.  
  
“Ok, John, it’s ok.” Arthur began to pull with all his might, Javier leant over. He pulled at the boy’s shirt, eventually getting hold of his gun belt to haul him over from the abyss.  
  
A thud of the three breathless outlaws collapsing on terra-firma prompted a snicker of celebration from the bemused mounts.  
  
Javier rolled to his side, ready to make an insightful quip, held his tongue. Finding Arthur encased around John’s small frame, even if the younger wanted to escape, it was clear Arthur wasn’t going to let go.   
  
Both heaved deep breaths, Arthur caressed the boy’s hair, face, his body as though checking he was real and not an apparition. Fearful his mind was playing tricks, and the real John was dead at the foot of a cliff.  
  
Whimpering sounds finally broke the silence. Arthur brushed away John’s messy mop of hair, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I should’ve....” the boy stuttered, unable to form coherent sentences through the shock.   
  
Arthur’s large piston arms collapsed around the boy once more. “You have nothing to be sorry for, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have lost control.”  
  
He held the boy aloft of his body. “I am sorry, John; I promise you that will never happen again.” The declaration delivered with such intent, brought the heat to John he had not felt before, in between the uncontrollable shaking of the shock which soaked his body, a new sensation rose.  
  
John was besieged under the sorrowful gaze, exposed, terrified that Arthur could see his truth. His eyes moved for the slightest second to those lips, so full and trembling, begging to be comforted, then the horror of what he was doing, had Arthur seen him, did he know?  
  
“Arthur, it’s getting late, what do you want to do.” Javier intervened; aware their options were diminishing with the fading light. The adrenaline was waning and stiffness set in. John squealed when Arthur raised him up off his own body.  
  
Arthur got up slowly to hide the grimace of his own pain, bruised ribs were a definite, possibly broken. He looked over John whose clothes were torn, revealing cuts and scrapes all over his small frame.  
  
“We can’t camp, not in this state, too far to get back.” Arthur huffed, as Boadicea muzzled against her master.  
  
“You take John, get to Valentine, it will be late, but at least you can get yourselves sorted,” Javier said.  
  
“You not coming?” Arthur rubbed the dust off his body. Hoping the answer would be yes, a clear mind to navigate.  
  
“No, I want that pelt, and I am sure Johnny wants his horseback.” Arthur hadn’t realised that Jezebel hadn’t returned, probably too terrified to come back, she will make him pay when they get back to camp.  
  
“You ready?” Arthur said softly, aware John was subtly falling into shock.  
  
He nodded, unable to speak, scared he would betray his weakness. Arthur gently lifted the younger up, he winced, and John yelped. Arthur pulled himself up behind, this was not going to be pleasant.  
  
“Take care both I will see you back at camp.” Javier waved them off, shaking his head in disbelief.


	8. One Night in Valentine

Arthur negotiated the terrain that was shrouded in darkness, attempting to keep John alert, fearful there might be hidden damage yet to reveal itself. They arrived in Valentine well past midnight; the usual raucousness of the saloon muted as the last of the stalwart drinkers were unceremoniously cleared out. He used his limited eloquence to barter entry into the hotel, two weary travels in need of a bed. Once the owner’s eyes befell John’s state, realising the youth was in trouble, he obliged their every request.  
A bath was poured out in their room, the last in the building, double bed, warm fireplace, all the space they needed. Gas lights provided a civilised glow that allowed Arthur the sight to study John. He had barely murmured since they left Javier, his silence was unnerving.  
  
“John, I am going to take off your shirt, check the damage.” Arthur tore at the sleeves of the ruined shirt, avoiding his visibly swollen arm. There was no protest from John, his mouth tight as a knot, as the shirt was lifted over his head. His torso was a patchwork of scrapes and scabs, a nasty patch on his back had torn a large portion of skin. It needed cleaning and anaesthetising. Arthur winced, his memory recalling the sting such injuries caused. Once his assessment was over, he faced his patient, whose only sign of life was the occasional involuntary twitch of a muscle. Arthur wanted it to be bashfulness. Still, familiar darkness crept into John’s eyes, the fog of trauma permeating his mind. A pang of guilt cemented in Arthur’s stomach; he had done this to the boy. Did John see it that way too? Was his remoteness because Arthur was close to him? If he went away would the darkness ease...?  
  
“John, you going to have to get in the bath.” The request failed to register.  
  
“I can see if one of the women will come in and help you out?” Nothing.  
  
“Ok, I’ll just leave you to it.” Arthur huffed, turning for the door.  
  
“Don’t leave” a stifled gasp left John. Arthur’s concern alleviated slightly; John was still there, barely. He waited patiently for the younger to remove his pants, just leaving his long drawers. Arthur raised an eyebrow, it’s not like they hadn’t seen each other naked hundreds of times, certainly enough not to warrant the timid display being presented. Registering the older man’s bemusement, John gingerly removed his long drawers. Thoughtlessly leaving them in a pile on the floor, hesitantly turning to dip a toe in the bath. Arthur needed a few moments to regain his composure, picking up the discarded clothes, they were ruined, but he felt compelled to fold them neatly. John stood rigid in the water, his muscles tensed as he hugged his torso, the dimmed light warmed the curvature of his taut lines, usually jagged and sharp now seemed fuller. Arthur’s enforced distance caused him to miss the recent growth spurt that made his body seem mature, less boyish. He felt himself staring slightly too long.  
  
“You are not going to drown in the tub,” Arthur said lightly, hoping to pull a scoff from the other.  
  
“It’s not that” was the monotone response. “It’s going to hurt.” Arthur nodded, he moved slowly to not shake the boy’s nerves further. Removing his jacket, placing it on the chair, he rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt.  
  
“Remember when you first joined us?” Arthur said calmly as he approached the tub.  
  
“You were filthy with dirt; it was almost growing on you.” He placed a hand on the back of John’s neck, providing firmness to alleviate the shaking.  
  
“After feeding you, we suggested you got clean in the river.” He gently kneaded the back of his neck, eliciting a moan of satisfaction.  
  
“You refused, of course.” Having secured compliance, he drew John closer.  
  
“We couldn’t allow that; your odour was offensive to the women and risked attracting animals.” Arthur raised both of John’s arms, placing them firmly on his broad shoulders. His words were metronomic having the desired hypnotic effect, his voice sultry, a potent mix to attract the most unsuspecting victims.  
  
“Dutch, Hosea and I pounced on you, attempted to get you in the river. You kicked, thrashed, knocked one of Dutch’s teeth out, bit so hard on my arm, I still have the scar.” He lifted the younger man, like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. Their eyes met; a primitive memory of trust emboldened them to continue.  
  
“That night you came to me, asked me to help you bathe. I waded out to my midriff, with your skinny frame wrapped around me. You dug in so deep that I had to wash you, making sure no water touched your face.” Arthur bent down on one knee, absorbing the full weight of the boy, as if he was a feather, concealing the crushing pain in his own ribs.  
  
“One day in and you already trusted me implicitly.” Arms stretched out, he allowed a slight smile to cross his face, reassuring the youngster.  
  
“Ready?” John gripped the side of the tub, bracing himself, the slightest nod confirming, a tear forming in his eye like the first snowmelt of spring. Arthur slowly lowered him into the warm water, a sharp gasp left his lips as the water wrapped around his wounds. He mentally counted to ten, how Arthur had taught him, knowing the sharpness of the sting would eventually lessen.  
  
“Once a week, for a year, we waded out in all manner of streams, rivers and lakes.” Arthur’s veins ran thick along his arm as he tensed to keep John’s head above the water, his brow furrowed in concern.  
  
“The last time, I held your head, as your body floated without any support.” Arthur, with his free hand, caressed the stray locks of hair, submerging them in the water.  
  
“I moved my arm away, and you floated on your own for a few minutes, until you realised what I’d done, you panicked, almost drowning us both.” Arthur kept running his fingers through John’s hair, the electricity passing between them.  
  
“You never asked me to bathe with you again,” a sadness befell his eyes, remembering that first loss of trust. Did he push too much, expect too much too soon? Was he always breaking the trust between them, the faith that John gave so willingly? Was today the final straw, had he lost him forever? A knock came at the door, the click of the latch snapped Arthur’s gaze up. A young woman, a dishevelled knot of blonde hair stood on her crown. Her sparrow eyes pinched at the sight of John and Arthur.  
  
“Hello sir, do you need any help?” Her voice croaked from interrupted sleep.  
  
“Yes please, can you help my brother to bathe, he has been in an accident, and I need to....” the sentence was interrupted. John’s hand clutching firmly at Arthur’s wrist, “don’t go” his body tensed around the grip, eyes pleading for security.  
  
“Sorry miss, he doesn’t want me to leave him” Arthur’s mouth twitched nervously aware how odd this must look.  
  
“Not to worry, everyone wants family near when they are sick,” she smiled warmly “I have clean towels.” She placed them on the sideboard next to John’s ruined clothes, “I can see if we have any unclaimed clothes to tide him over and we have some food, I am sure you are hungry.”  
  
“That’s mighty kind of you miss, we will be indebted to you.” Arthur forgot all about John, skin softening in the tub.  
  
“I won’t be long,” she said as she retreated to the door.  
  
“Miss?” Arthur called, remembering himself. “Do you have access to medical supplies, a sling and some iodine?”  
  
“The names Beth” she offered; aware he was not the type to ask. “I shall see what I can do.” The heavy footsteps of the women disappeared into the darkness, with his protector distracted, John took the opportunity to regain a moment of composure, resting his battered body against the curve of the tub.  
  
“I didn’t ask you to bathe with me again because I wanted to show you I could do it myself, wanted you to be proud.” John’s long lashes fluttered attempting to hide his blush. The admission threw Arthur sideways, as he had forgotten what had prompted it. He realised his hesitancy set John’s nerves off again, which was not his intention.  
  
“I am proud of you, John; don’t mean sometimes you can’t let a proud man wash that rats’ nest on your head.” Arthur chuckled, reaching for his satchel.  
  
“I got this a while ago in town, it’s a new soap, Ivory, smells exotic.” Arthur removed the packaging, inhaling the aroma, wrapping his mind around the intoxicating scent. John absorbed a familiar sight of Arthur losing himself in something new. His sentience was more intoxicating to John than the soap. Still, as usual, the moment was fleeting as Arthur regained control.  
  
“I’ll take the head; you do the rest.” John nodded in agreement; he knew the routine. The soap suds released the aroma of coconut and palm oil, relaxing the senses, the odd gasp of sharpness rolled from John’s lips, each time he cleaned a wound. Beth returned with a clean shirt, a plate of offcuts and a sling for John’s arm. Arthur thanked her graciously, slipping a few dollars in her hand.  
  
“Thank you, say, cowboy, you look like you could do with a wash yourself, happy to assist once you are finished here.” Beth curled a long finger around one of her blond locks, suggestively.  
  
“I probably should stay with my brother, perhaps another time.” Arthur’s eyes traced up and down the curves of the blonde, lamenting the refusal, as he closed the door on the opportunity.  
  
“You can go if you want?” John said, having witnessed the overtures of the young women.  
  
“Believe me, John, after today, the only thing my body is capable of is sleep.” Arthur retrieved the towels, placing them next to the tub. Arthur finished rinsing John’s hair, keeping the water away from his face.  
  
“I thought I was going to die.” John quivered under Arthur’s touch.  
  
“Mmm...” Arthur said focussing on his task of unknotting John’s unruly hair. John pulled away, drawing his knees to his chest and placing his hands to his face as uncontrollable sobs vibrated through his slender frame. Arthur knew this was coming, the adrenaline, then the shock, all had to be worked out, like the knots in his hair. Arthur’s long arms pulled him backwards, unravelling his protective shell.  
  
“I will always protect you.” Arthur reasserted the promise he made all those years ago, watching a procession of tear’s trailing down the curve of John’s cheek. One landed tantalisingly on his pouting lips, a sudden desire to taste that tear overwhelmed Arthur.  
  
“Arthur…” John murmured through his sobs, catching him off guard. He buried his face between John’s neck and shoulder, hiding in the act of comfort, holding the boy close. His mouth ran kisses along his shoulder, his lips needing to respond to an uncontrollable urge, away from his face, mouth and that tear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is turning into a super slow burn, just keep meandering into different elements that I want to explore.


	9. The wrath of Grimshaw

Arthur paced around camp like a caged animal, removed from its cub. John’s screams were muffled by the rag that Grimshaw had unceremoniously stuffed in his mouth. He was banished from the tent, once the extent of John’s injuries had become apparent. This was the standard treatment when something happened between the pair that had not been witnessed. The couple separated, interrogated, always weaker apart and the truth would be pieced together, judgement passed on who was to blame, punishments dished out mercilessly. This time was different, Arthur knew he was to blame. If almost killing him wasn’t bad enough, the intimacy they shared. The feathered kisses along his shoulder, holding his naked body close, it was sinful. He feared that if the gang knew half of what had happened, his place alongside them was in jeopardy. Not that he blamed John if he did tell them, his innocence would view the whole night as comforting brotherly love.

The muffled screams stopped; Arthur stood to attention, waiting patiently for John to be dismissed from the torture. The sun travelled across the morning sky, it was near noon when John scurried across the camp to his tent, barely shooting a glance of acknowledgement to Arthur.

“Mr Morgan, in here please!” Miss Grimshaw sternly summoned him from within the tent. Arthur dutifully entered, the tent was set up like a field hospital, all manner of potions and concoctions, labelled and placed in order. The canvas was placed under a large oak that concealed it from the heat of the sun, but it made it seem dingy and claustrophobic. 

“Shirt up and let me look at those ribs.” She ushered him to sit, he hadn’t mentioned his own injuries so was surprised she had noticed. Arthur unbuttoned the first few and gingerly lifted the shirt over his head. An audible gasp left the women’s lips as she gazed at the thick purple bruises forming around his sides.

“Where does this end, Arthur?” She said calmly as she retrieved bandages from her medical kit. Arthur didn’t respond, knowing it was a rhetorical question.

“You push him away, and he pushes back, the violence you display to one another keeps escalating, what’s next? accidentally shooting each other?” She began to wrap the bandages around his waist. The familiar aroma of stale whiskey left her lips, she only drank when her nerves were frayed by worry, _ so most days _.

“He shouldn’t be following me.” Arthur grunted, knowing it was not a sufficient excuse.

“He follows you every time Dutch and Hosea aren’t around to see, been doing it for a year.... you’re just too….” She stopped herself from finishing the sentence, choosing to be careful with her words.

“Just too what...?” Arthur’s hackles raised at the thought of being treated with any kind of softness.

“Dense to see it” she shot a glance to land the point entirely. “For all your supposed abilities and skills, John is your blind spot, the one thing you will never see coming.” Arthur shook his head in disbelief, that is how John found him, he was following him, how did he not realise sooner.

“You should have told me.” Arthur’s eyes were steel, the mist of anger descending.

“What and have you beat him and do you think that would have stopped him? Do any of your punishments ever stop him?” Susan was matching his temperament; this conversation was a long time coming, and with Arthur partially incapacitated, she seized on the opportunity.

“I seem to remember you doing the same at his age, sneaking out after Dutch.” Arthur’s lip twitched, incensed that she would suggest they were similar. She continued to wrap his bandages, refusing to acknowledge the frustration written on his face.

“I treat him like a son, Arthur, but he doesn’t want a mother’s love, he wants his big brother!” She finished tying the knot of the bandage in place and stepped backwards catching his sight like a coyote hunting prey.

“It breaks my heart when I see you being kind towards him because I know the next day, you will be closed and cold.” She chocked slightly on her own words, brushing back a few strands of stray hair as she regained some of that notoriously rigid composure. 

“You know more than anyone how it feels to have someone you love be inconsistent towards you, to treat your feelings with such disregard.” She inhaled deeply half expecting him to leave, his usual response when confronting any of the difficulties of his past. Still, he remained a crease of concern on his face towards the women but was reticent to her words.

“’m trying to protect him” Arthur drawled, his last line of defence in discussions about John, he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the stiffness forming.

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you” she pulled a chair near, placing her slender hand on his knee.

“Dutch thought you could handle it, I now realise he was wrong. Ice has settled in your heart; we should never have allowed it to happen.” Her sallow eyes gazed at him, like a spider patiently waiting, her web was set, and Arthur had walked straight into it.

“I can’t change that for you, but I can make sure John is happy. You can’t protect him from life Arthur, just because you had bad experiences, all your doing is denying him what he has never had, and that’s cruel.” Her tone was soft, a juxtaposition to the words she spoke, which landed hard.

“Bad experiences, my son was murdered!” He exhaled, a truth he hadn’t spoken since the faithful day he returned to camp almost two years ago.

“Women for millennia have lost children, birthing them, childhood sickness, get to adults and get themselves shot.” Her pitch increased; this was a truth that Arthur needed to hear even if he didn’t want to.

“Your son was murdered, but that doesn’t take away the feeling you had when you first held him in your arms, the first time you fed him or washed him, the first step, the first time he called you daddy.” Arthur’s head spun with the memories, the cruelty of the women to make him relive those events knowing how that love died, like everything else in his life.

“You mourn for what you have lost Arthur, but at least you had it to lose, John has never even dreamt that he could have something so precious.” She withdrew her hand, hiding the trembling, was it fear or anger, he couldn’t tell, _ could be both _.

“His need to emulate you, be like you, it will only end in him being as cold and closed as you are, that’s if you haven’t killed him first.” Arthur acknowledged the statement with a light chuckle, she knew what happened, that’s why John couldn’t look at him. His punishment, to have a mirror of truth placed in front of him, one that he was not ready to face. He inhaled a deep breath to maintain his composure. Susan dispatched her wisdom with a brutal honesty that he wasn’t prepared for. He sat frozen, statuesque, as the pain of her words constricted around his heart.

“Now look at the pair of you, both injured, not providing, unable to do chores. You better hope Mr Escuella catches something, or we are going hungry tonight.” With the lightness of a spring breeze, she left the tent, a switch flicked in her head, as though nothing had taken place. Arthur retreated to the woods; his ears rang as he held back the tears. For all her faults, of which there were many, Susan had a knack for cutting through his barriers and revealing his truth. As the air was knocked out of him, he knew he needed to hear it, they had left him alone with his grief a little too long, and it was now manifesting itself in reckless behaviour. His mind a sealed box, wrapped in chains so tightly they would never break had been unlocked momentarily by Susan, and all manner of memories were pouring into his head. Those little fingers wrapped so tightly around his own, deep blue eyes staring up so innocently, the sound of his voice.

He sobbed, “Oh Isaac” he crumpled to his knees, unable to support his weight.

“Who’s Isaac?” John asked from the clearing, perplexed by the visibly shaken Arthur. Having once again successfully stalked his brother.

“Are you ok?” He mentally closed the space between them but physically didn’t move an inch. This was an Arthur he had never witnessed before and couldn’t risk his anger for invading such a personal moment.

“You’re crying” he finally said, as though he’d only just noticed.

“Go away, John, leave me be,” Arthur said through his quaking voice, still strong and authoritative, even when strangled with emotion.

“But...” John interjected, fighting the hesitancy. Wanting to reach out and hold him, returning all those nights of comfort, but was still too scared. Arthur could be like a bear with a sore head, unintentionally lethal if pushed.

“I mean it John just leave me alone, I need time, I’ll come and find you later, I promise.” Waiting for John to be out of sight, he wrapped himself up, lying in the foetal position on his blessed mother earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think a rather harsh but fair assessment from Miss Grimshaw, nothing wrong with a bit of context to crush our leading mans inability to process grief.


	10. Opposites Attract

“John get in here!” Arthur hollered from his tent; John’s tent was always pitched in earshot. Arthur composed himself, committing to thawing the ice. He returned to his tent, lighting lanterns and laying down his favourite furs, making it comfortable for what he had planned. John hovered outside, his skittish movements betraying his awkwardness towards Arthur’s vulnerability. Was he going to be pummelled into silence for witnessing such an emotional earthquake?  
  
“Come on, John, it's alright.” Arthur’s sultry tones compelled him forward. His eyes adjusted to the orange hue that enveloped the tent, it made it seem homely and warm. Arthur’s prized pelts were laid out on the floor, beers settled in a bucket to the right, and his journal lay in the centre. Arthur tied the knots of his tent to provide them with some privacy, he hadn’t planned on doing this in camp. Still, their recent escapades meant there was no chance they would be allowed to leave together.  
  
“Sit down” Arthur softly suggested. He waited for John to settle on his haunches, who took his time with his one functioning arm. Before timidly lowering himself, his face grimacing from the tightness around his ribs. Grimshaw was right about one thing, they weren’t going to be much use for a few days. Arthur reached to the bucket pulling out two beers, dispatching their lids effortlessly. He offered one to John while taking a swig of his own.  
  
“Can I?” John’s voice quaked with excitement.  
  
“Don’t tell anyone,” Arthur smirked, it was quickly becoming his new favourite statement when it came to John. Arthur placed his bottle on the side and unbound his journal. He shuffled slightly leaning against his cot, ushering the young man to join him by his side. John squirmed with his first swig of the beverage, he had only imbibed a few times and still hadn’t managed to enjoy the taste, it’s tart hops felt dry on his pallet. Waiting patiently for Arthur to reveal what lay behind the pages of his journal, he nestled in alongside Arthur, making sure not to put his weight on his injured side. He was still close enough to inhale the cologne of the man, cigarettes, alcohol, and pine.

The pages fell open to another centrefold, this time he took a while to process what he was looking at, it looked like a disfigured animal that had no eyes. Arthur watched him intently, his confused expression elicited an unguarded smile, his adorable sweetness made Arthur twinge at the thought of breaking his innocence. Once this conversation was over, there would be no room left for doubt in the boy’s mind, and he would be one step closer to becoming a man. Arthur understood he could not stop it anymore, no more than he could stop the tides. From the dressing down he received from Grimshaw, he wanted to be responsible, not leave more damage in the poor boys already traumatised mind.  
  
“This is what a women’s intimate area looks like,” Arthur said. John’s face scrunched up as if he had bit into a lemon.

“Don’t look like that” Arthur laughed as he lightly chastised him. “It’s one of the most anatomically correct pictures I have drawn.”  
  
“Doesn’t mean it looks nice,” John said squinting to try and gain an appreciation.  
  
“Don’t ever tell a woman that” Arthur chuckled. They both settled in Arthur tried to explain the mechanics of the female orgasm and the appropriate angle to sheath one’s member to ensure maximum pleasure for both participants. Still, his protégé flew from hysterical giggling to disgusted yelps. Arthur couldn’t help become intoxicated by the reactions, while the act of lovemaking was an intensely pleasurable experience, his attempts at describing it was highly amusing. John was mortified most by the idea of using his mouth to stimulate the clitoris

“It’s a poor woman that ends up with you as a lover.” Arthur baited. John pushed at him innocently, he hadn’t realised how complicated sex was.

“It sounds like hard work?” he offered.  
  
“If its hard work, then I don’t need to teach you anymore, just going to stay a virgin forever.” He chortled, John could be notoriously work-shy if Arthur or Susan weren’t pushing him, the thought tickled him more, “Perhaps Grimshaw should take you, she will make sure you get the job done.” John squirmed but didn’t rise to the bait, he was getting used to not reacting to Arthur’s uncontrollable need to berate him. He was listening, absorbing, trying.

“I don't get it?” John attentively questioned. Arthur raised an eyebrow, not speaking, as he was relentless with inappropriate quips after a few beers. While humorous, it was very disruptive for the class he was trying to teach.  
  
“How come women get pleasure from the clitoris...” John blushed intensely as he said it “and inside, but men only get it from ejaculating.” Arthur choked on thin air, coughing painfully against his ribs. Indeed not a question he was expecting, but he should have known John bloody Marston absorbs everything, doesn’t have the shame not to speak it.  
  
“Are you ok, Arthur?” John’s smile sunk, worried about the injuries Arthur had tried to conceal from him.  
  
“Yeah …yes, it's just um.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, unsure whether to tell John the truth. Would the fact give him the idea to experiment, it was definitely not something Arthur wanted to plant in his mind. Grimshaw voice ringing in his ears, can’t protect him from life.  
  
“Men do have a spot inside” he coughed again.  
  
“What?” John’s brows rose unnaturally high on his forehead.  
  
“Men have a similar spot inside them like women do.” Arthur watched John’s expression for any hint of intrigue to the suggestion.  
  
“I don’t understand, how does a woman stimulate that spot in a man?” Arthur shuffled on his hips, feeling the discomfort wrap around his muscles. “They don’t, well I suppose some might, but I have never met a woman who will do it.”  
  
“Then how do you know the spot is there?” Arthur blushed intensely, without his hat to hide under, he felt naked against John’s inquisitive gaze.  
  
“I will tell you when you are older.” Arthur retrieved the final bottle from the bucket, looking for anything to distract him.  
  
“No Arthur, you always say when I am older but when is old enough. You know all my secrets, but you never tell me any of yours.” John frowned, annoyed they had returned to the familiar setting of when you’re older.  
  
“You don’t have any secrets, John, you’re a walking monologue of verbal diarrhoea.” Arthur laughed. “Another thing that impresses women into bed, being enigmatic, you should work on that.” John wasn’t willing to play this time.

“Fine, don’t tell me but it feels like I don’t know you.” His sulky face, lit by a hue of orange, provided the glimpse of the man he was becoming, his thoughts considered but open, almost the opposite to Arthur’s quick but circumspect mind. Opposites attract, Arthur shook the idea quickly.  
  
“You know me better than you think, you don’t need to know every moment of my life to feel reassured about that.” Arthur winced, John’s expression didn’t change, thaw the ice in your heart.  
  
“Fine, one secret, you can have one secret.” John trembled at the proposition. There were so many half whispers, half-truths when you’re older John’s in the back catalogue he needed a moment to be sure which one he wanted to know more than any other. He really wanted to know how Arthur knew about the spot in a man, but one thing came to mind more than anything else.  
  
“Who’s Isaac?” John pulled at the fur of the pelt, unwilling to look at him, scared of his reaction. Arthur gulped, John’s your blind spot, you never see him coming.  
  
“Isaac’s my son” Arthur whispered against John’s ear, as though to say it louder would send him plunging into the depths of despair.  
  
“I’m an uncle” John whimpered excitedly.  
  
“You were an uncle” Arthur corrected him.  
  
“What happened?” John’s face was sullen as he puzzled together the loss.  
  
“Isaac and his mother were robbed and killed for ten dollars.” The revelation stung; John remained silent, unable to find the words to give comfort to such hurt.  
  
“Pass me that picture of my mother?” John reached up, pulling the mainstay of Arthur’s collection of photos, always the pride of place next to his cot. Arthur removed the back of the frame, a smaller picture fell out the end, he ran his thumb over it and then passed it to John. He absorbed the scene, A slightly younger Arthur, sat with his son, no more than two or three years old. The bonniest smile on his face, his eyes fixed on his father, full of adoration and trust.  
  
“Why do you keep it hidden?” John inquired, finding it curious that it didn’t have its own frame.  
  
“Can’t bear the thought of other people seeing it, touching it, that photo is the one thing I possess that is truly mine.” John felt a beam of honour wash over him, he had been allowed to touch Arthur’s most prized possession. John remained still, capturing this moment, never wanting to forget Arthur’s honesty and vulnerability, it was alluring. John knew these moments between them were fleeting and rare, they were to be savoured and cherished.  
  
“I wish I could have met him, a little version of you.” John gushed at the thought, a little Arthur.  
  
“Naw, he was more like his mother, all soft and loving. He had my eyes but definitely his mother’s personality.” Arthur took another swig of his beer, his eyes shone in the lights, watering at the intensity of the memories. Perhaps she was right, how it ended didn’t mean it didn’t happen and that it wasn’t right. Isaac would always be a part of Arthur, his memory burned like a flame in his heart, why wouldn’t he share that with John.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me and don’t say I was too young.” John needed to know how something so important was kept from him, not just by Arthur, all of his family had concealed the truth from him.  
  
“You had your own problems John, your own pain, you didn’t need my trauma confusing things.” Arthur settled backwards, the exhaustion of the last few days, the pain of his injuries, the emotional tornado Susan had set off spinning in his mind. He needed rest.  
  
“Is what happened with Isaac why you're always hard on me,” John shuffled in, closer, he wanted to be closer, cocooned in those arms, to feel the heat radiating from him.  
  
“No John, I am always hard on you because you act dumb as rocks and as dull as rusted Iron, but I am not trying to make you a replacement for my Isaac.” Their foreheads were resting against each other, Arthur caressed his cheek, he didn’t mean his words to sound so harsh.  
  
“You staying?” he breathlessly asked, not remaining awake long enough to hear the answer. It always amazed John how quickly Arthur would fall asleep, as soon as his head was horizontal, he was gone. John studied his face, none of the horrors of life ever befell it when he slept. He was more handsome, without the creases and the strains, he was beautiful.  
  
John felt emboldened, possibly by the one beer he had consumed, wrapped up in the feeling of security Arthur offered through his presence. The penetration into Arthur’s soul, witnessing his vulnerability, was another layer of him to desire. The warmth of the tent, the comfort of the pelts. John leant in, hesitating for a heartbeat, before ghosting Arthur’s lips with his own, catching the slightest touch of his bottom lip. He wanted to push deeper but couldn’t risk stirring the older man, who frowned but didn’t wake.  
  
John couldn’t risk a second caress, couldn’t ruin this night, his dreams would not even allow him to believe that he and Arthur would be this close. He curled up neatly into the curve Arthur had made with his own body and let sleep take him.


	11. Clothes make the man

John woke with a sensation of emptiness, he frowned as he placed his hand next to the void where Arthur lay the night before. He wished sincerely that every night could be the same, with laughter and openness, sharing their deepest secrets and hopefully, one day, their darkest desires. John could feel his nerves fray, he always did this to himself. He would be granted the briefest of glimpses into that box of treasures that made up Arthur Morgan. Still, he would wake to find the lid firmly shut, making John question whether he’d witnessed it at all. He huffed, stiffly rising up from the furs, at least he was getting better at identifying these moments, short-lived as they were. He was practised at committing them to memory in an attempt not to be duped. He also toughened his resolve, so he didn’t fold when Arthur pretended like it hadn’t happened. John squinted as he left Arthur’s tent, the sun shone brightly above the tree’s, had he really slept that late?  
  
“Good afternoon Mr Marston, glad you found the time in your busy schedule to join us.” Grimshaw near enough shouted across the camp, making sure everyone in earshot knew that he was awake.  
  
“Don’t worry about her John, she is always snippy when there are chores to be done.” Hosea didn’t bother to glance up from his paper. John stretched, loosening the knots in his back, even with furs, the ground still didn’t make the best bed. His eyes shuffled around camp trying to find the sight of Arthur; instead, he found a welcome sight he was not expecting.  
  
“Jezebel” he called out, her mottled brown and white coat stood out in the makeshift paddock at the side of camp. John ran over to her as she ate some hay, unwilling to break her feeding time to acknowledge her absent owners’ presence. “Hello girl” He whispered embracing her neck, mimicking how Arthur was with Boadicea.  
  
“There you are John, how are you?” Javier approached them both,  
  
“I am good, my arms swollen but not broken, according to Miss Grimshaw.” John’s skittish frame hugged around the unfamiliar man  
  
“Thanks for bringing her back.” Javier didn’t know how to react, not used to receiving affection but then remembered John was still a boy.  
  
“You think that’s good, come and see what else I have.” Javier led John to Dutch’s tent.  
  
“There you are my boy; we were getting worried you had slipped into a coma,” Dutch exclaimed, they were all here, Dutch, Hosea, Miss Grimshaw and Arthur.  
  
“Mr Escuella has got you a special gift, John.” He was passed an elegant, large white box, embossed with the most delicate gold leaf writing.  
  
“What is it?” John said, feeling his excitement rise.  
  
“Open it and see,” Arthur said, as they gathered around the boy. John lifted the lid, revealing sheets of bright wrapping paper. He gently moved them to one side, revealing a dark denim waistcoat, underneath lay matching denim pants and a stonewashed shirt. John stared in awe, unable to verbalise the feeling of joy, he had never owned such exceptional clothes. Most of his existing wardrobe was Arthur’s hand me downs that Grimshaw had to take in several inches, they still hung from his bones like sheets in the wind.  
  
“What do you say, John!” Grimshaw lightly chastised him for his slowness.  
  
“Thank you, Javier,” John felt an unexpected tear leave his eye.  
  
“Don’t thank me, John, this is an apology, I shouldn’t have played games with Arthur” Javier sucked in a breath ready to admit his part in the mess.  
  
“I knew you were following us, just wanted to wind him up a little, him being so uptight and all, if I knew it would end up with you getting hurt I would never have done it,” Javier said contritely  
  
“Yes well, let us all agree that the three of you displayed poor judgement and hear nothing more of it.” Dutch proclaimed.  
  
“Anyway, I caught a large Elk, got a good take selling the pelt. Thought it was the least I could do.” Javier smiled at John.  
  
“Well try them on then, let’s see if I need to make any amendments.” Miss Grimshaw ordered.  
  
“Give the boy some privacy, John stay in my tent, you can use the mirror to see what your new clothes look like,” Dutch gathered the gang, leading them out of the tent.  
  
“Arthur! Can you stay.” He looked puzzled until John raised his bandaged arm. A light nod was given. It was a struggle, Arthur was not the most adept at helping him change, too concerned with placing his hands in the wrong place or his eyes staring where they shouldn’t be. They eventually got there, John admired his new clothes in the mirror, they were fitted showing off his lean curves, still space to fill out a little. Arthur hovered behind him, also admiring how much the clothes made him look attractive.

“A proper outlaw,” he said with pride, placing a hand on his shoulder, John smiled at those words.  
  
“Wait here, I need to get something.” Arthur left the tent, returning a few moments later with a black cattleman hat, studded with metal. He placed it on John’s head, it was still a bit lose but matched the outfit perfectly. Through the mirror their eyes met, silently, they couldn’t break contact, they were equally consumed by fire, becoming more intense with every passing second. For the first time, they both appeared to acknowledge the deep, all-encompassing desire that was filling the cracks of their mutually broken existence.  
  
“Let’s see then.” Dutch barged past Arthur followed by the rest of the gang. “Well, Well, John, that is a mighty handsome fit you have there, mighty fine.” Dutch circled the boy. “Now all we need is for Arthur to work on his fashion sense and we will be the best-dressed gang this side of the Dakota.” Everyone laughed at Arthur,  
  
“I will have you know there is nothing wrong with my fashion sense. Practical clothes are required when you are responsible for the majority of this gang’s work, can’t all be prancing around like Parisian Dandy’s.” Arthur always had the last word.  
  
“Now if you don’t mind, I have a horse that needs apologising to, and I don’t have no fancy garb to give her.” They all laughed again as Arthur left the tent and made his way over to a cool Jezebel, who had clearly not forgiven him for the smack she received two days prior. After parading his new clothes for the others, John returned to Jezebel who was once again putty in Arthur’s hand. Even she couldn’t hold a grudge where Arthur is concerned. Arthur was brushing along her sides. “I can do that” John said, aware he might have to become reacquainted with his horse.  
  
“You need to rest that arm, or it won’t heal” John frowned,  
  
“Fine, come here we can do it together.” Arthur loosened the strap of the brush and fed John’s right hand through, resting it under his own. They made long uninterrupted motions from Jezebel’s shoulder, and along her flank, she stomped her feet in appreciation. While focussing on the task, John could feel the heat bubbling away in his stomach, his long wiry fingers were intertwined with Arthur’s larger calloused ones. Their bodies were a step apart from each other, and all John could think about was closing that gap. To have his body encircled around him, to feel his chest rise and fall against his back. He stepped back a little too obviously, not even realising that he committed to doing it. Arthur allowed it for a moment taking it as confirmation that whatever this was, he wasn’t the only one feeling it. Arthur conceded it would feel so natural to place his arm around the younger man’s stomach. To encase him fully in an embrace, to allows his lips to find the crook of his neck. He shook the thought.  
  
“John, I am not going to around much the next couple of weeks, the gang needs money,” Arthur stated as a matter of fact. John whined at the loss “it’s ok I will be back for your birthday, can’t miss you becoming a man.”  
  
“My birthday is a month away; you said a couple of weeks?” John said boorishly, he knew this was coming, the process of the lid being shut.  
  
“Well I will be back before your birthday, I promise.” John rested his head back against Arthur’s chest.  
  
“If I make enough, I can get you a present.” He whispered into his ear. John smirked,

“You got a challenge; these clothes are the best present I’ve ever had.” Arthur chucked

“Is that so, didn’t realise it was a competition.” John smiled “It is now.” 


	12. Finding Arthur

John’s boots clinked along the wooden floor of the Valentine saloon, he had been sent by Dutch to find Arthur, who had gone for one of his sporadic alone times. The air of the bar was thick with smoke, it hung heavy at his eye line, making it difficult to see. The smell of spilt whiskey made his stomach roll, as the hum of the patrons near deafened him. It was an assault on his sense’s, making him feel disorientated, it pinched at his side, his skittish movements betraying his unease. He scanned along the busy bar, but there was no sign of Arthur, _ perhaps he had not come here? _ The hairs on his neck stood up, _ where could he be? _ John approached the bartender, a familiar face in a sea of strangers. John still felt nervous, _ what if he hasn’t seen him or can’t remember? _ _ What if he has already left and gone back to camp? _ John rattled through all the possibilities, unable to control his mind.

“Have you seen Arthur?” John hollered to be heard; the man merely pointed to one of the side rooms of the Saloon. John nodded his thanks, negotiating his way through the crowd. The throng of people grew thicker by the minute, _ where did all these people come from? _ The laughter sounded barbed, as though they were laughing at him. John could feel his heart beating faster, a feeling close to anxiety was rising, _ where is Arthur, why is he here? _John practically fought through the last of the raucous crowd to reach the door, he pushed against it desperate to get in, it was locked. The rolling feeling in his stomach returned, _ what if he is hurt? Injured? _ He needed to get to him, protect him.

“Arthur!” he shouted, “Arthur! It’s John, I am here, Arthur!” The latch of the door clicked, and John fell into the room. It was bathed in a soft glow of candlelight, the fire crackled filling the cavernous room with warmth. John stood, mesmerised by the plush furnishings, embroidered curtains, it was rather grand for the back room of a saloon, _ Dutch would love this _ he thought to himself. His eyes fixed on a poster bed, the curtains were slightly drawn, with the merest of gaps. He could feel himself drawing closer, almost floating towards the end of the bed.

He was about to call out for Arthur again when he heard a grunt, a satisfyingly pleasured grunt, followed by a gratified grateful moan. John felt his cheeks warm, a further grunt and moan with a rhythmic creak made him realise. _ It was Arthur, Arthur with a woman, Arthur, with a woman having sex. _John froze unsure of what to do, the door seemed so far away, a retreat was impossible. His cheeks flushed red. While he’d heard the odd camp member over the years partaking in sexual gratification, that was a communal space. This, this was an intimate setting, the door locked for privacy, _ have I broken in? Is Arthur going to beat him for the intrusion? _

The noises intensified almost drowning out the hum of the oblivious patron’s next door. His eyes darted around, trying not to look, but he felt a compulsion, something else was controlling him. As his sight adjusted to the shallow light, he could see those big broad, muscular shoulders rolling rhythmically to the thrusts of his pelvis. Arthur’s back gleamed with sweat, the slightest droplet descended down his spine, leading to those sculpted hips which rose and fell at a brutal pace into their intended target. And that ass, so firm, dimpled at the sides, didn’t lose any of its shape as each intensified thrust elicited more and more moans of pleasure. John felt himself closing the space, nearing the bed, driven to see more of the intoxicating sight. The floorboard creaked under his foot, breaking the dream state and plunging him back to reality.

“What you looking at, boy?” Arthur’s drawl was laced with aggression. John froze, unable to speak. His large calloused hands reached through the curtains, grabbing hold of John’s elegant new waistcoat.

“Get in here!” Without resistance, John flew through the curtains, landing on the bed next to the woman who seconds ago was feeling the full passionate force of Arthur’s lovemaking. All he could see was the slightest milky white breast as it rose and fell from her laboured breaths. He scurried backwards, his head hitting the headboard, he felt distinctly overdressed in comparison but blushed intensely as though being dissected for anthropological study. His eyes met Arthur’s, whose steel gaze hadn’t left him. The colour seemed unnatural, intense blue flame, those eyes reserved only for those Arthur was about to kill, he trembled. He couldn’t even acknowledge that Arthur was naked, that his sizeable phallic member sat between his thighs still wanting to be pleasured.

“Come on Jonny boy, it’s your turn, have a go? Arthur pointed to the still heaving woman that lay to the side of him.

“No Arthur…. I can’t” This was not proper, not how Arthur had taught him, he couldn’t even if he wanted to, not with Arthur’s gaze watching his every move.

“Come on, darling, it’s ok, let me help you get out of those clothes.” The women rolled onto her hips, her slender fingers reaching for the zip of his pants, he squirmed trying to avoid her touch. She placed her other hand on his thin waist almost as a restraint. Her gaze pinched upwards, catching him, he knew this woman.

“Beth….is that you?” John rose up on his elbows to get a more commanding view of the girl. Of course, Arthur would return to claim what was so readily offered to him.

“What’s the matter, you not interested?” Beth said, brushing the palm of her hand against his pants, finding his unaroused state.

“Little Jonny is still a virgin.” Arthur’s sardonic tone tore at his insides. They both laughed mockingly as though he was peculiar, the burning sensation in his cheeks returned as he pushed Beth’s hand away.

“That’s a shame,” she rolled to the side of the bed, engaged in one final wanton kiss with Arthur, leaving a gleam of moisture on his full swollen lips. “Another time, Cowboy.” She slipped from the bed, retrieved her dis-guarded clothes and left the room. John’s pupils were blown, amazed the woman was so blatant as to walk naked into the mass throng of patrons outside.

“I know what you want.” Arthur said forcefully, “Even if you don’t.” John’s gaze snatched back to the older man who had manoeuvred himself to hover over him. He quickly dispatched the buckle of John’s belt, then the button, allowing his pants to fall loose against his jagged hips. Arthur’s large hand, slid under the string of his long-drawers, gently cupping his soft member and malleable balls. 

"Arthur…!” John protested under the heat of someone else touching him. Arthur chuckled, collapsing his body next to him, he began to massage gently, feeling the growing throng of his member push against his hand. Arthur exhaled against his ear, sending a shock down his spine. 

“You want this don’t you, boy?”, Arthur’s whispered tones eliciting a further protest but this time tinged with desire. 

“You want me to touch you, to feel my hands all over your body?” He felt a gentle nip against his neck, followed by a lick of his tongue. John’s mind collapsed momentarily, it was what Arthur had taught him, how to woo, and now he was the intended lover.

“Arthur, we can’t” John whispered as his hips involuntarily thrust up into his hand.

“You want what Beth has just had; want to feel me penetrate you?” Arthur continued with his ministrations. John’s member became intolerably thick in his hand. He continued to place kisses against his neck, feeling the shudder of the younger man as everyone landed.

“You want me to find that special spot inside you, make you feel good?” John groaned at those words, he wanted to shout yes, wanted to surrender to all Arthur had to give, ride his hips all night, to have those swollen lips kiss him, but he was too far gone.

“Arthur…!” He moaned out; an uncontrollable feeling of heat encased his body.

“John!” Arthur responded

“Arthur” he was too close to speak.

"John?” Arthur’s voice became inquisitive, but it was too late.

"Arthur….!” He released into Arthur’s hand; his muscles collapsed. Sated.

“John!!” He could feel his body shake uncontrollably. “John, wake up you’re having a nightmare.” John’s body flew up in his cot, his legs kicking out as his torso became rigid. He took a few seconds to adjust to this new state of wakefulness, confused and disoriented. His long lashes fluttered rapidly as he tried to understand where he was and what had just happened.

“You alright, John, you were calling for me in your sleep?” Arthur stood over him, rubbing John’s shoulder to try and make him relax. The nightmare must have been intense as Arthur hadn’t seen John react so violently from being woken up in years.

“’ ’m fine.” Was all he could manage, his claggy mouth and a confused mind stopping from speaking any further. As he regained some sense of himself, he realised there was an unpleasantly cold sensation of moisture settling between his legs.

“Move over then,” Arthur instructed, he had been out of camp for longer than expected. Everyone was asleep when he arrived back, hearing John calling out for him, stunned him slightly, but he was now welcome to the idea of some comfort.

“No!” John said a little too forcefully, producing a look of bemusement from the older. “Come on, John, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you had a nightmare.” Arthur grabbed the pelt before John could react, it fell from John’s lap, revealing the mess he had made. Arthur’s eyes fixated on the growing patch of moisture, the cogs of his mind slowly identified his error, and his face burned red.

“M’ sorry, John.” Arthur turned away to give the boy some privacy. Realising, he had invaded an intimate moment.

“It ain’t like that, Arthur ….” John shuffled off the bed. “Its …its”

“Its ok John, these things happen.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck; how did he approach this.

“Get changed, I will take you down the river to get washed up.” Arthur left the tent to give John a moment, this was not the welcome back he was expecting.


	13. Two Birds, One Stone

It was well past midnight when they reached the Dakota, wading out into the deepest point of the river. Arthur remained close but aloof, aware of John’s nervousness around water needing to be countered against the crippling embarrassment they were both felt. Arthur had brought his new soap, they passed it between each other as they washed. The moonlight bouncing off the swirling water, illuminating their taut physiques. Arthur knew they needed to talk but couldn’t think of the words to start the conversation. They returned to the shore, drying themselves at a distance from one another. Arthur pulled his trousers up, letting them hang loose, conscious the opportunity to talk was dwindling with every passing second.

“John, do you want to talk about it?” John shuddered at the thought

“Arthur...” he whined; the embarrassment was too much.

“We don’t have to; just thought you might want to discuss it.” John shook his head in protest. Arthur wasn’t willing to let it go, this couldn’t become a point of awkwardness between them, those feelings always festered and led to trouble. 

“It’s ok, John, everyone your age has those dreams.” Arthur tried to reassure him. John didn’t respond, it was not the act just the subject that made him unable to open up.

“Are you embarrassed because it was about me?” Arthur watched his face closely to see if it responded to the prompt.

“Arthur, I don’t want to talk about it,” John said forcefully, still struggling to countenance the Arthur who held him when he had a nightmare with the Arthur of his dream.

“It’s normal John, a sleeping brain gets confused, you were probably missing me, and then it got all messed up with your thoughts, it’s kind of flattering.” Arthur was conflicted, babbling in an attempt to make light of the situation while being honest to his own feelings.

“How do you know?” John responded pensively, clearly confused by it all.

“Know what?” Arthur wanted clarity before assuming, he’d been caught out by John’s mind too many times to fall for that.

“Know it doesn’t mean anything, what if it does mean something?” John’s doe eyes looked over at Arthur, searching for reassurance.

“John, I don’t have the answers to everything, I just need you to know I am ok with it, whatever it is?” Arthur ran a towel through his hair, hiding his face from the boy, how did they get themselves into such an awkward mess. Arthur shifted; his body twitching, wanting to run and hide, but he couldn’t. Not wanting to hurt John, the younger was being brave and vulnerable at the same time. Exposing thoughts and feeling because he trusted Arthur, John, who came to them broken and abused. Arthur needed to match that bravery and vulnerability to show John that it was ok to explore those feelings. Even if it was wrapped up in half-truths, confidence tricks, they had both been dancing around each other, thinking different things and now they were here. Nowhere to hide, John was displaying intense feelings for Arthur, and it was Arthur’s job to protect him.

“Have you ever kissed someone?” Arthur asked John shook his head, perplexed by the relevance.

“Final lesson, Hosea always told me not to kiss working girls on the lips, that level of intimacy should be saved for someone you care about.” Arthur chose his words carefully.

“Your birthday is next week; you can’t lose your virginity, having never kissed someone.” Arthur closed the space between them, carefully studying John for any signs of doubt,

“Two birds, one stone, first kiss and find out if _ this _ means something.” John felt stunned, Arthur was offering to kiss him, his mouth stuck shut as though he consumed honey, he couldn’t verbalise a yes, just nodded gratefully. A warm smile crossed Arthur’s face, he reached for John’s hips pulling them closer, the sharpness of them protruding from those new denim pants had been playing on his mind while he was away. Arthur brushed his lips gently against John’s, he could feel the younger man shudder. He slightly nipped his bottom lip with his teeth, caressing his cheek with his hand. _ It’s too much, too intimate? _ Arthur’s mind protested. John’s hooded eyes stared back at him, and he couldn’t take it

“Close your eyes” he whispered. With the distraction gone, Arthur closed his own eyes, trying to control his own thoughts. Arthur began in earnest, caressing John’s lips with his own, running his tongue over them to moisten them. Tilting their heads slightly to get the angle right. John barely reacted which confused Arthur, maybe it did mean nothing to John, and the dream was just a dream, the kiss felt empty devoid of any feeling.

“John!” Arthur chortled.

“Yes Arthur?” John kept his eyes closed, their lips parted, and he felt as if he was floating.

“You can kiss me back,” Arthur said light-heartedly. 

“Ok Arthur” John snapped himself back into the moment, he could kiss Arthur and he wanted to be fully conscious for that moment. Arthur began again this time, the pressure from John made for a more welcoming experience. Arthur repositioned his hands-on John’s hips to steady him. He gently parted his lips allowing his tongue to slip into John’s mouth. A few moments passed of caressing and then John’s tongue licked against his, skittish as ever. Arthur pinched his hip a sign to slow down. John got the message slowly their tongues began to roll in unison, massaging each other. Their moist mouths clashing was the only sound other than their deep rhythmic heartbeats. The intensity increased as Arthur placed his hand on John’s back, pulling them nearer to each other. He had done it so many times with women that muscle memory had taken over.

John moaned; he could feel the knot tighten in his stomach as the heat rose in his groin. He bucked against Arthur needing some sort of relief, Arthur knew he should stop, this should halt, but his own heat was pooling in his stomach. Arthur bit John’s lip to slow things down, to give him space to think. John didn’t enjoy the reduction in pace, he wanted more. He pushed harder against Arthur, sending them both flying over an errant log. With force, John landed in Arthur’s lap, straddling him, their lips parted as they stared at each other, a mixture of fear and desire, this needed to stop. John plunged down, finding his target, as Arthur aggressively ran his fingers through John’s hair, trying to regain control. Their lips clashed with ferocity and hunger, neither fully sated. John could feel his hands exploring the older man’s bare torso, he was driven to feel every inch of his exposed skin as his youthful lips dominated the pace. John moaned again, grinding down on Arthur’s lap finding his semi-erect bulge. Arthur’s lips moved along John’s jaw. Along his neck, John carried rhythmically riding the cowboy’s lap, feeling his erection grow.

“You want this, don’t you, boy?” Arthur whispered against his skin, needing to be sure. Those words asked so innocently, were too much for John to handle. His mind recalled the cruel sardonic Arthur of his dream, who had brutally challenged his desires without care or love. He rose to his feet, surprising the older man. Half dressed he ran, he ran as fast as possible with bare feet, unbuckled pants, he ran back up the hill and into the woods, needing the security of home. Arthur hollered after him a few times, but once he saw the direction of travel, knew the boy would be safe, even if he didn’t feel safe with him.

Arthur wanted to run, hit the boy, do something physical to release the mental anguish, he was a medley of emotion, but he couldn’t take it out on John. He encouraged this, allowed it to happen, it was his responsibility to be in control, and he lost it. Arthur composed his thoughts, rationalising the situation, behaving nonchalantly was the best way to manage it. His stomach twisted as the full weight of his actions bore down on him. _ I am in so much trouble if anyone finds out _, he shook the thought, this was not about him. He deserved what punishment he received; it was John who needed protecting.

Arthur suppressed the nauseous feeling and gathered up the discarded clothes. He trekked back to camp, his imagination rolling through the possibilities, John waking everyone up to tell them. Arthur; the pervert touched him, someone finding him crying and putting two and two together. Whatever option he thought of it all ended in him receiving frontier justice, hung from a tree by his own family. There was an eerie stillness in camp, the darkness suggesting that no one was awake. A sudden fear rose, _ did John come back? _ He swiftly moved across the camp, stopping short of entering the young man’s tent, he could hear the gentle muffled sobs and knew he wouldn’t be welcome. _ What have I done? _ Arthur placed John’s boots outside his tent and retreated to his own.

_At this moment, in the eyes of the law, I am no better than those men that did those things to John. _ Arthur wrote in his journal; it was a horribly inaccurate account but true none the same. Arthur wanted to comfort the boy, his sobs still audible between their tents. He imagined embracing him telling him it was ok but after what he had just done the thought of John’s skin touching his made him shudder.

Arthur lay in his cot. John had stirred something in him, something he was terrified to admit. If there was something, Arthur Morgan was an expert in suppressing unwanted feelings. It might take a few days, a lot of liquor and few fistfights but that kiss will be locked away in a box, chained up several times and buried so deep it would never resurface. John was his brother, and that is all he will ever be.

John lay in his cot, tears streaming down his face. Arthur had made his body react in ways he didn’t know were possible. He clenched and gritted his teeth, he wished that women, working girls, anyone could give him that feeling. That this was his body seeking pleasure where ever it could and not the unthinkable, John was not an invert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it would be really good to get some feedback at this point, my first venture into smut, really conscious that John is technically underage but in context I suppose it doesn't matter.


	14. Fatherly Advice

The days leading up to his birthday, John’s moods were erratic. Swinging from crippling silence to outright hostility, monosyllabic grunts were all most received in the way of communication. While he’d never been known for his subtle, nuanced personality, these extremes had everyone on edge, wondering what was wrong with the boy. Arthur knew, realising John’s silence on the kiss was probably secure, kept a self-imposed distance. Banishing himself from camp as much as possible, giving John space to settle. This distance between them had not gone unnoticed. Hosea ever the astute and worldly man could tell that his sons were struggling with a tremendous burden. A burden which neither of them seemed to possess the emotional capacity to deal with. He was watching, examining their movements, pondering their words or lack thereof. Logging the momentary glances they made when they thought the other wasn’t looking, on the rare occasions Arthur graced them with his presence.  
  
While it was clear to everyone in camp the two were not speaking, the reasons why still shrouded in secrecy. Hosea suspected he knew but was not willing to share any wider. His most significant concern was not the secret itself but the fact that for the first time, neither had taken his confidence. It was not like them to push him away from their troubles. Hosea had tried multiple times in the past to teach John to fish. Arthur refused that honour, struggling with his own patience for fishing. One morning, John’s temperament fraying everyone’s nerves, Hosea took him out fishing, offering up some rest bite for the others. He set up the rods nicely, knowing full well John was the least bit interested, the tranquil solitude required for fishing did not speak to John’s nature. The silence was always a golden opportunity to mine the young man’s mind.  
  
“So…How’s the birthday planning coming along?” Hosea asked nonchalantly.  
  
“Ok…I guess, nothing really to plan.” John stared across the Dakota, lost in his own thoughts.  
  
“Well that’s not true John, I thought Arthur was taking you to town, giving you a special treat?” Hosea rigged his line sending it skimming across the lapping shoreline.  
  
“S’pose so, don’t really take much planning.” John’s monotone voice clearly struggling with a deep hurt.  
  
“What is it, John, worried about laying with a woman for the first time?” Hosea pepped, knowing he wouldn’t get a clear answer.  
  
“Mmm,” Each question John retreated further and further into the darkness that consumed him.  
  
“My father had the blackness in him, John, he would be right in front of you but not there at all, disappear for days in his own mind. It was a sad business.” Hosea sat down next to him, patted his knee. “I don’t want that for you John, to be so lost in your own thoughts, if you don’t give those thoughts a voice, they will eat at you, eventually consuming you.” John buried his head into his knees to hide the tears, the utter exhaustion of thinking left him both numb and weak. Hosea wrapped an arm around him, bringing the boys face to his chest. John grasped his fingers around the older man’s waistcoat in an attempt to hide his muffled cries.  
  
“John, whatever it is, we can sort it out. You are my son, and I can’t bear to see you like this.” Hosea’s voice trembled, John had always been fragile, broken by his life before the gang.  
  
“I…. Can’t……Tell…. you.” John managed to say through exacerbated gasps.  
  
“You know that’s not true, John, you can tell me anything.” Hosea shifted slightly; cradling John’s head like a baby.  
  
“Promise… me you won’t say a word to anyone.” John’s breath hitched as he tried to calm himself.  
  
“I won’t John I promise” Hosea knew that was a lie, secrets were only kept if they caused no harm. John sniffed, rubbing the streams of snot and tears into his shirt, detaching himself from the old man’s wiry frame.  
  
“I …. Keep having dreams.” John paused to catch his breath; Hosea interjected haphazardly.  
  
“You have always had dreams, son, that is nothing new.” Kicking himself, if John were going to open up to him, he would need to listen.  
  
“Not those sorts, they were nightmares…I keep dreaming about… men.” John wiped the last of his tears away, he knew the next words could change his life completely and not for the better. He was trusting Hosea and his promises.  
  
“I keep dreaming of men, touching me…intimately.” John had lied, the dreams were real, but the men were not, there was only one-man John dreamt of, and that was Arthur, but that would be a different conversation, one that John wasn’t willing to have.  
  
“I see,” Hosea said thoughtfully. “And do you enjoy these dreams?”  
  
“No, of course not!” John objected  
  
“I mean when you are dreaming them, do they make you feel good at the time?” Hosea spoke with a levelled calmness.  
  
“S’pose so.” John cautiously conceded.  
  
“Come on John, I am trying to understand, but since we have known you, you’ve had nightmares about men touching you intimately.” Hosea was challenging, needing to understand the difference, why this had caused such a great schism in the boy when it was not necessarily a revelation.  
  
“How do you know?” John rebuked.  
  
“How do I not know, the whole camp knows, you cry out in your sleep. Did you never wonder how Arthur knows you need comforting?” John’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment; he was not aware he was that loud.  
  
“I suppose I enjoy them at the time, they are not the same as my nightmares, they are different more pleasurable.” John swallowed. His newly prominent Adam’s apple twitching at the words, as they didn’t truly reflect how he felt afterwards. Dirty, confused and terrified by what it all meant.  
  
“When I wake up, I don’t feel good, boys are meant to dream about girls.” John felt the bile rise in his throat, there was no going back now.  
  
“Have you ever dreamt about girls in that way?” Hosea asked adeptly, trying to fathom the extent of this predilection.  
  
“Sometimes” He lied, the only woman John dreamed of were the ones he was fighting off to get to Arthur.  
  
“What about goats? Have you had any dreams about goats?” John’s eyes rolled over to his father, suspicion and bewilderment etched on his face.  
  
“Urgh no, what kind of pervert do you take me for.” Hosea collapsed back laughing at his reaction, he had garnered all he needed to impart his fatherly advice.  
  
“I can guess that you told Arthur about these dreams…That’s why things have been a bit strained lately?” John nodded to the half-truth, Arthur knew about a dream, and that is all he needed to know.  
  
“You youngsters always take yourselves so seriously, like you discovered sex and fornication. Let me tell you this now my boy, in ancient Greek times, men were for pleasure and women were for breeding.” The old man’s wispy eyebrows rose and fell suggestively.  
  
“I can also tell you that when Arthur was your age, he ruined most of Dutch’s books on renaissance art with his nighttime rituals. While Dutch never noticed, it was always over the pages with men on them, completely missed the women out every time, Michelangelo’s David was his favourite.” John smiled for the first time in a week, chuckled at the thought. Hosea always provided the context needed to show that nothing was as bad as he thought it was. Poor Arthur still copped for it, both Dutch and Hosea told the funniest tales about the stoic outlaw as a youth, he almost sounded as bad as John.  
  
“But Arthur loves women?” John protested through his giggles.  
  
“Arthur loves, John, sometimes he is a little too intense with it and gets himself tangled up in all sorts of hurt, but he loves all the same.” Hosea gave him a crushing squeeze. “His love isn’t set by rules, especially those enforced by a civilised society that doesn’t want him, neither should yours, that’s not who we raised you to be.” John thought on the words. A revelation, he conceded, was always there simmering beneath the surface but was too transient to put words to it. Hosea had taken the flat nuanced picture he had of Arthur and filled it with vibrancy and colour. Arthur loves, loves nature and animals, loves drawing and art, loves the gang, loves Eliza and Isaac, loves Mary and Boadicea. Arthur loves so deeply and intensely that it hurts him.  
  
Everything else, the killing, drinking and whoring were just things he did to survive the brutal hardships of his life. It wasn’t a lid slamming shut every time they shared a moment; it was Arthur refocussing on his other priorities. Still, he always came back, eventually. Can’t be a feared outlaw, right-hand man in the Van Der Linde gang, drawing pretty pictures all day. Hosea could see the flickering on John’s eyes as the cogs in his brain ratcheted, still no wiser to Arthur being the primary focus of his thoughts. Hosea continued to educate his son in how to manage his predilection.  
  
“John, if you think you will prefer the company of men then you can’t change that, and you shouldn’t feel guilty, and if you want men and women then the more, the merrier. Goats I might be willing to accept as long as it is away from camp.” Hosea placed a kiss on his forehead, relieved that the truth was out and it really wasn’t as bad as his imagination had led him to think.  
  
“Hosea! I promise the only thing I might do with a goat is milk it, and that’s a push.” John said, jokingly.  
  
“I can’t tell you what to do on your birthday, you don’t have to go the saloon if you don’t want to. I will tell you this, the types of places that cater to your current predicament are few and far between, mostly in the docks in St Denis and they are not safe. Certainly not for a growing lad like yourself.” Hosea caught his gaze with his own.  
  
“You have to promise me, John, that if you do decide the company of men is better, then you wait until you are older and can handle yourself better.” John wanted to rile against the statement when you’re older, but knew it was delivered with care and knowledge.  
  
“I promise,” he said determined to honour his father’s wishes  
  
“And you take Arthur” Hosea slid the request in with ruthless efficiency.  
  
“Arthur won’t want to come with me to a place like that.” John protested  
  
“Hell, of course, he wouldn’t, but Arthur also wouldn’t live with himself if you got hurt, especially if he already knows, there is no reason not to take him.” John grimaced for a moment, Arthur always protected him in spite of his own feelings. He gave John all the space in the world to fail, make mistakes, not listen and yet when it really mattered, he was always there saving him. A pang of guilt crossed his chest, as he thought, possibly for the first time, how Arthur might feel, confused, rejected or even worse. Running away from him, not talking to him, John knew Arthur, he would have ruminated on it for days, scarring his own heart with guilt.  
  
“You promise you won’t tell anyone,” John needed to secure Hosea’s silence until he was sure what he was.  
  
“I promise son, I promise.” Hosea patted him on the back. They travelled back together, it quite bright spirits. The clouds of despair had lifted, and John felt secure. Gratified by the conversation with his father. Most of all, he believed he’d secured another piece of the puzzle that made up the complex man that was Arthur Morgan.


	15. A moment in time

John tried to find Arthur when they arrived back in camp, eager to apologise for being an arse. He knew Arthur wouldn’t accept it, would blame himself for everything but John knew to become a man he would have to take some of the responsibility. Arthur’s absence annoyed him slightly, knowing the longer he took to come back, the more his confidence would wain. His words would become twisted and tangled, ending up pushing them further apart rather than acting as a catharsis. Dusk settled in, wrapping a cool autumnal breeze around John’s bones. He placed a second round of kindling on the fire, determined to keep it alive until Arthur’s return.

“Evening my boy, did you enjoy fishing with Hosea?” Dutch said mockingly, neither had caught any fish. It was unusual for him to leave the confines of his tent; John feigned a sense of honour at his presence.

“What you doing, waiting for Arthur?” John’s eyes darted at the question; Dutch was always digging for information.

“At some point, you will have to move out from his shadow, there is no place in this gang for a pining puppy.” John had grown used to these chats, always when they were alone. At first, John thought it was Dutch trying to toughen him up but over time doubt crept in, there was a darkness in Dutch that the rest of the gang didn’t see or refused to acknowledge.

“He won’t be back tonight, this time of year is always hard for him, prefers his own company.” Dutch took a sip of whiskey, his eyes fixed on the flame of the fire.

“Arthur prefers his own company all year round.” John sniggered, staking his claim on knowing Arthur better. “but the anniversary is soon, so I understand.” Dutch’s coal eyes stared at the younger man; John smiled mockingly realising that he’d irritated Dutch slightly.

“I wasn’t aware he’d told you.” Dutch took another sip of whiskey. “Has he told you anything else?” John rolled his eyes, _ still _ _ digging _.

“Yeah loads of things, he likes sharing.” John said sardonically, but Dutch wasn’t good at sarcasm. That was Arthur’s fault, his words were always delivered sarcastically but spoke to the truth of the situation. John grew weary of the interrogation and got up to leave, as he passed by Dutch grabbed his wrist.

“You listen to me boy, you might have everyone else fooled with your innocent butter wouldn’t melt act, but we both know, you don’t grow up the way you did and turn out normal.” He twisted John’s wrist; a shot of pain flew up through his arm.

“This gang needs Arthur at his best, we live, or we die by Arthur’s ability to focus, I don’t need him distracted by you and whatever game you are playing with him.” He loosened his grip slightly, aware the boy’s arm had barely healed.

“This gang needs Arthur, I am not sure the same applies to you.” John gulped and shook his head in acknowledgement. Dutch slapped John on the back “Good boy, knew you would understand.” John retreated, initially to his own tent. Still, he was riled, his blood pumping with such intensity, he had been warned to stay away from Arthur, threatened with losing his home and all the people he knew and loved.

As an act of sedition towards their leader, he went to Arthur’s tent. Sitting on the cot his legs fidgeted uncontrollably, now he was here he didn’t know what to do with himself. His head collapsed into the pillow, dislodging a box from underneath it. The package was pretty, small and blue with a white bow sat on top. A little card read To John, Happy Birthday, written in Arthur’s cursive scrawl.

John chuckled to himself, an immense feeling of Deja vu crept over him. So many times over the years he had snuck into Arthur’s tent, found Arthur’s journal, stared at it, held it, touched along its sides, inhaled its aroma. He never read it, even when he was furious at Arthur and wanted to hurt him. This time though was different, it was technically his present and his birthday tomorrow.

He lifted the box, on a purple velvet cushion sat a fine-looking onyx pocket watch. Embossed on the case, a silver wolf and a silver stag facing each other under a full silver moon. He traced his thumb along the pattern, it was beautiful. John unclasped the latch, its face gold, the numbers black Roman numerals. There was a window in the centre that revealed the mechanisms, they were gold and black providing a striking contrast, the whole piece was breath-taking.

On further study of the case, John saw the engraving:

_J.M love A.M_

John began to cry; he’d been doing that a lot lately. It was all too overwhelming, this was such an expensive gift, far too expensive for the likes of John. What if he lost it? He was clumsy enough to lose it. He would be devastated. He curled up in Arthur’s cot, his hand stretched out, staring at every delicate inch of the watch. He palmed it around in his hand, learning its exacting feel, committing its shape to memory. Its presence was hypnotic and calming, like Arthur himself.

He could feel himself drifting off, he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. Arthur’s scent, his things encased around him, Isaac hidden close by. The pocket watch, so delicate, so thoughtful, encapsulating who they were as individuals and to each other, the best gift he’d ever received. John felt like a custodian to all Arthur held dear. Arthur returned late, everyone was asleep again, just the way he liked it. He knew there were questions to be answered about his recent behaviour, and he wasn’t prepared to face them down, not yet in the mindset to lie convincingly.

He stopped at John’s tent, listening out for any sign the boy might be awake, but there was nothing. While he was still avoiding the gang, he was ready to face John. Needing to know his thoughts, his feelings. Whatever guise they took, he was prepared because guessing was killing him.

“Evening Arthur” a hushed voice came from across the camp. The wiry old man emerged, rickety and stiff.

“Evening Hosea, what can I do for you?” Hosea prompted him to join him at the dampened campfire. Arthur settled with acceptance, too exhausted to fight the impending interrogation, not when it was delivered by Hosea.

“Had a good talk with John today.” Hosea paused, Arthur knew this game too well, _ don’t assume John said anything, wait for confirmation. _

“Did you, that must have been enthralling for you.” Arthur lit a smoke, needing a distraction for his hands.

“That boy is all sorts of confused.” Hosea watched his son’s expression for a hint of change.

“That he is Hosea, that he is” Arthur inhaled deeply, the intense gaze from the older man unnerved him. “Do you need me to do anything as I really want my bed?”

“No, I know you have been _ helping _ him and wanted to thank you, not many would have the _ patience _ to give him _ guidance _ the _ way _ you have.” The words were delivered with pointed precision, a warning wrapped in a thank you, back off and let him find his own way. Arthur entered his tent, turning on his gaslight to see. His heart skipped, John nestled in his cot, his birthday present dangling from his outstretched hand. He thought about waking him but thought against it. For tonight words didn’t need to be spoken, John would be 16 tomorrow, their world would change a thousand times over throughout their lives. Why not share one last night, wrapped in each other’s arms, the way they had been since John was 12.

Arthur tried his best to slide behind John, but the pair of them together were slightly too large for the one cot. John stirred, feeling the weight behind him. His doe eyes framed with those long lashes blinked up at him. He was about to speak, Arthur delicately placed a finger on his lip and kissed his cheek, collapsing into sleep.


	16. Sated

The rim of his black cattleman hat concealed his large doe eyes. His lashes blinked several times as he read the saloon sign, this was it. Arthur made him put on his finery for the occasion, his new waistcoat slimmed his waist down to his jagged hips, his figure sharp but alluring. His shirt sleeves rolled down as though attending church, a neckerchief to hide the lack of collar. Arthur coached him on the way about how to behave when they entered the saloon, not to go straight to first girl he saw, to appear aloof, have a whiskey to calm his nerves. The older man led the way, he didn’t make a lot of effort in his appearance but still looked like God had chiselled him out of the most beautiful granite. John watched as he ascended the steps his black denim pants framing his muscular ass, his mind flashed back to the dream watching it rise and fall like a piston. He huffed, he knew those thoughts were not going to help him, not in this task and certainly not to get over his feelings for Arthur. Enough had been said to him, subtly by Hosea and rather unsubtly by Dutch to tell him that Arthur was off-limits, for both their sakes. Hell, John was still no clearer in understanding what it all meant, was he an invert? Or was it just Arthur.

“You coming?” Arthur glanced briefly back at John, his hat casting a shadow that framed his face as dark and distant. That was the real Arthur, the man who hid in the shadows, whose stoicism gave little away, even to those closest to him. Arthur would never risk his place in the gang, would never betray his fathers, loyal to what matters. As much as it pained John to think it, he couldn’t risk ever finding out if he mattered enough for Arthur to risk everything. Not when Isaac, the most precious thing in Arthur’s world, still came second to his loyalty to Dutch. John knew he couldn’t compete and didn’t want to, the boy he never knew was as just as precious to him because he came from Arthur.

“Yeah, let’s get it over with,” John said rather flatly, not even pretending to be excited by the opportunity to lose his virginity. Arthur had vowed to himself not to intervene. He wanted to tell the boy he didn’t have to do it, if he wasn’t ready, but was too scared that his own desires were prompting those reassuring words. His brief discussion with Hosea the night before had made him realise, John had to find his own way. John was still dependent on Arthur, hadn’t become his own man yet. He would have too much influence over the boy, would always wonder if their bond was natural or just control. John seeking security because he’d never known it, a relationship of convenience rather than of love. They passed through the saloon doors, the patrons were few and far between as it was only mid-afternoon. A regular tinkled the ivory’s which broke the silence, but mostly the bar was lacklustre, not exactly romantic. Arthur ordered two whiskeys, knocking his back instantly, tapping his glass for a top-up. Dollars were exchanged, and the half-empty bottle was released to the older outlaw, who retreated to a table further back in the saloon. John stared at his glass, the honey-coloured liquid inside he’d yet to experience, a day of firsts. He tried to knock it down as Arthur had done, the heat hit the back of his throat, he instantly gagged and coughed it up.

“Sip it, you moron.” Arthur chastised, his usual droll tone when John was embarrassing him in public. 

“You didn’t sip yours” John snapped back out of habit, realising instantaneously how stupid he sounded. 

“Sit down” Arthur kicked out the chair next to him, the pair sat in silence, two outlaws enjoying a drink.

“Hello boys, isn’t it nice to see you again.” Her knot was less dishevelled, but her eyes still pinched at the sight of them. 

“Why Beth, did not expect to see you here?” Arthur’s voice was grateful for the distraction. 

“I work here actually; the hotel owner rents me a room when I work late, and I help out when idiots turn up in the middle of the night battered and bruised.” She smiled at her assessment of the pair “but my actual job is here.” She pulled up a chair next to them, Arthur nodded in acknowledgement, a benevolent smile crossed his face.

“I don’t think we have been properly introduced, even though I have seen you naked in the bath.” She held out a hand in John’s direction. He blushed slightly, feeling compelled to admit to seeing her naked too until he remembered that was his imagination. 

“John.” He shook her hand half-heartedly, her presence was not helping, not when he could see the stolen glances between the two. His stomach rolled at the thought of them together. While distracted, trying to ignore the young woman’s presence, Arthur leant forward, cupping her face and drawing her ear to his lips. The words were whispered too quiet for John’s ears, but a knowing look from the women provided him with enough to know what Arthur was saying.

“Would you like to come with me John, I can take care of you if you want?” Her outstretched hand was almost a command rather than a choice. John hesitated but conceded that Beth was more known to him than anyone else, he hoped it would be less embarrassing. As she led him to the stairs, he turned, Arthur was watching him, offering a nod of encouragement. John studied his face for the slightest glimpse that Arthur didn’t want this to happen, that he wanted John to wait, that it was he, he alone that should have the honour of his virginity. John wanted to tell him the kiss wasn’t something, it was everything to him, that Arthur’s lips were the only ones he wanted to feel next to his. He could feel a knot form in his throat, it constricted the longer he stayed. John couldn’t cry, not in front of Beth. He took a deep breath, stuttering slightly to calm his nerves. He returned to the table where Arthur sat, a bemused look washed over the older man,

“Can you look after my watch for me, I don’t want to lose it.” He placed the Onyx watch into Arthur’s hand. The older outlaw chucked, scratching his chin, a little confused, “I don’t think Beth will try and steal it.” He offered reassurance.

“I want you to keep it safe for me until I am old enough and responsible enough to look after it myself.” John rubbed his finger over the watch, gently ghosting across Arthur’s thumb. “Can you do that for me, wait until I am ready?” John’s doe’s eyes sincerely stared into Arthur’s pensive blues.

“I can, John,” Arthur said, his breath hitched. John returned to Beth who guided him up the stairs to a small rather dull room, there was a double bed but nothing grander than that. He was frozen to the spot she’d left him in, unable to initiate contact. He couldn’t feel anything other than fear, what if he couldn’t perform? Beth could see his anxiety, it was to be expected, she guided him to bed and sat him next to her. She tucked an errant hair behind his ear, the sweeping motion sent tingles down his spine, a memory of Arthur comforting him during his nightmares, always so tender. John leant forward kissing Beth’s jawline, leading to her neck as he had been shown. Beth removed her bodice, revealing her pert breasts. John ran his thumb over her nipple, eliciting a noise of pleasure, he was doing it right. The elation was short-lived as Beth unfastened his denim pants to find his flaccid member had not stirred any. He flushed with embarrassment; he’d concentrated so much on preparing her for the pleasure he hadn’t thought about his own. She began to massage his member, her long slender fingers attempting to pump life into it, John lamented the need for thicker more calloused hands. After a few frustrating pumps, Beth’s pigeon eyes caught his.

“I have a few customers like you, John.” She let go of his uninterested member, retreating to a chest of draws nearby.

“I don’t want you to be worried, John, I promise this will be pleasurable.” Beth held a long leather object in her hand, its width was modest, but its length seemed unreasonable, he was not at all clear what it was.

“Take your clothes off John, it’s better if we are both naked, less messy.” John’s nerves subsided, the intrigue of this object and what it was for sending a sensation of arousal through his body. They both sat naked on the bed together, John stole the odd glance, she was not like Arthur’s picture, a little rounder and fuller, homely and sweet. It didn’t take away from her beauty, but John knew at that moment, while the female form could be appreciated, it would never be something he desired. Beth removed a pot of petroleum jelly from the side table, she slavered it in her hand and began to massage it on both ends of the object. John was mesmerised by the flowing movements of her hands over the object, the eroticism sparkling his own member slightly into life. Completing the coverage, she looked over at John with a tantalisingly malevolent smile. 

“This end is for you and that end is for me.” John’s cupid bow lips parted as a wave of nervous energy rocked his body.

“This way, we both get what we want.” Her eyebrows rose suggestively. She pushed John back on the bed, he willingly relinquished the control. John watched as she seated herself with ease on the object.

“This will pinch a bit at first, but I promise you, a few thrusts and you will be screaming with pleasure.” Her intense gaze was captivating; the blood rushing to his cheeks at the thought of screaming. It wasn’t the man who usually cried out in ecstasy, would Arthur hear him? The thought aroused him further. Beth slowly worked his hole, pushing one of her slender fingers in. The sensation was alien, not unpleasant, but his muscles were naturally fighting the intrusion.

“Relax John, if you fight it, it will hurt more.” John tried to clear his mind, to relax, his thoughts wandered, imagining what Arthur’s fingers would feel like inside him. John didn’t notice the second slide in until it grazed a spot inside him, the sensation elicited an involuntary moan of pleasure that snapped him back into the moment. Beth’s monovalent smile returned, she licked along her lips in anticipation. John couldn’t hide his surprise at her enjoyment of this, she clearly took pleasure in educating young men about their own bodies.

“I think you are ready, John.” he nodded in approval, lying back closing his eyes tightly. His hands rested on his stomach, tracing his thumbs around each other in an attempt to abate his nervous. The cooling sensation of the lubricated object wresting against his hole could not prepare him for the sharp burn as it slowly but surely stretched and filled him. He spasmed, upwards, almost attempting to escape but Beth held him steady, making cooing noises of encouragement. Once seated, she waited for his restlessness to subside but also knew movement was the best thing. Her first thrust was gentle and shallow, barely moving, his eyes focused on her with an intensity, still unsure of himself. She rolled her hips again, this time pushing deeper. His breath hitched, revealing acceptance of the invasion. Feeling confident, she began to set a rhythmic pace, his body relaxed back, eyes rolled over as he allowed himself to be taken. His mind floated away from Beth, replacing her with Arthur, _ his _ calloused hands bruising his hips as he thrust deeper and harder into him. His mind was becoming unsteady as each thrust intensified, a growing feeling of warmth wrapped around him. His rising penis slapped against his stomach, having had no attention, it came to life on its own. Beth shifted her angle slightly to find the sweet spot in the boy, that would end him completely. As she thrust, a shot of lightning flew through every nerve in his body, he saw white, screaming Arthurs name in a momentary lapse of control. Coming down from the excitement, his stomach rolled, Beth had stopped her intense thrusting, concern awash her face. John bolted upright, terror now controlling him. 

“Arthur is not your brother, is he?” An obvious question that needed clearing up. John shook his head,

“We were brought up together, but there is no blood between us.” John managed to respond, hoping he could provide a reason for this situation. 

“Do you want me to get him?” John was not expecting that, the thought was too much, he grabbed her wrist

“You can’t tell him.” His lashes fluttered uncontrollably as his mind collapsed with the idea of Arthur joining them. The pair laughing at him sardonically as they took it in turns riding his small frame.

“It’s ok John, everyone has secrets, Arthur is a mighty handsome secret to have, I am jealous.” She giggled. 

“You can call me Arthur if you want.” She positioned herself over him, their bodies lying flush against each other, she raised his legs, encouraging him to wrap around her waist. The new angle increasing the intensity, the stretch almost breaking him. The panic subsided as he led back and allowed her to begin shallowly thrusting back into him. This time the slowness created a level of intimacy between them, a trust that was growing. Beth knew what he needed, could see the secrets that rested in his soul, and she wasn’t disgusted or horrified, she gave him peace. 

“Is there something that Arthur does or says that would make this more realistic.” He nodded relenting to her guidance, he took her hand and placed it behind his neck, moving his own over hers, massaging until she got the pressure right. 

John bit his lips, his face pensive unable to speak the words on his mind. “It’s ok John, I would be a poor working girl if I didn’t give you what you wanted.” Her languid thrusts and rhythmic hand movements settled him into a state of calm. 

“Say…You want this, don’t you, boy.” John allowed himself to float away, a fantasy constructed in his own mind, brought to life by Beth. She began to pick up the pace, whispering the words he asked her to speak, her voice was no comparison to the sultry tones of Arthur, but it helped. 

He responded, “I want this, Arthur, I want you inside of me.” Beth choked a smile; this was not her first time at role-play, but certainly the first time she knew both participants.

“You like me penetrating you don’t you, boy.” John lost control as she became more brazen with her words. “Like me hitting your spot.” She began to penetrate deeply, hitting his spot with relentless precision. The shocks of electricity subsided into an intense warmth, it smothered his body, a sensation he imagined that was close to death. He exploded with ecstasy, unable to speak as left the world, his body boneless, his mind empty, his cum spilling on his stomach. John woke with a satisfied smile on his face, he couldn’t shake it. Even when his eyes adjusted and realised that Beth was no longer in the room. The sunlight was barely registering through the window, he must have been out for hours. Retrieving his clothes from the floor, his body still weak with pleasure. He took a few attempts to put his foot through the hole of his denim pants, at one point falling on the floor as he tried to raise them up to his hips. It didn’t hurt, John couldn’t believe he would ever register pain again with this feeling of absolute bliss. His feeble attempt at dressing was not as weak as his attempt at descending the stairs of the saloon, he gripped the rail for dear life, his legs a few steps behind his torso. Some of the saloon patrons eyed him with strange glances. At the bar Arthur and Beth were enjoying a drink, _ my too favourite people _, his muddled mind thought to itself. Arthur turned, his sight catching a ruined John walking towards him “Here he is, sleeping beauty!” His booming voice a sign he had imbibed enough to tranquillise a horse. John wobbled like a new-born foal, he reached for Arthur who collapsed his arms around him, to steady his boneless body. John inhaled his scent deeply, the final piece of this intoxicating adventure.

“Good God woman, what have you done to him?” Arthur said humorously. Beth giggled in the background, quipping something about being good at her job. John couldn’t speak, he wrapped his arms around Arthur as he melted into him, his muscles collapsing once again. 

“Look at the state of him” Arthur moved his shoulder away to reveal the sated state of the young man’s face. 

“He isn’t going to be any use to anyone” Arthur chortled, nothing he said registered in the John’s sedated mind. 

“He was definitely stupid before and deaf, but now he is completely dumb.” Arthur cupped his chin to get a better view of that happy expressionless face, it was irresistible. He wanted to be in John’s state with him, he tried to remember if his first time was so overwhelming. Arthur laid a kiss on his cheek, a moan of satisfaction left John’s lips, he was still overstimulated, every touch near enough another orgasm.

“Welcome to Manhood,” Arthur whispered in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end but feels like a natural pause. I might take a week or so before I post more.


	17. Pin Point

In the three years since losing his virginity, John had grown his last inches settling at Arthur’s eye line. He remained skinny as a rake but managed to hold it much better. Where Arthur used his mass to intimidate, John’s thinness made him agile and fast. The skittish movements of his youth were tamed, he became more fluid and considered, like a stalking cat, those sharp hips a contrast to his aloof stance. A man that appeared half-starved but stood casual like a glutton wasn’t precisely a readable element, especially with a gun in his hand, proving just as intimidating. Arthur enjoyed watching his mannerisms form and solidify. They certainly didn’t all go the way he expected. Always believing John would live on his nerves, full of untamed energy, that whine as his siren call. If anything, he slowed, optimising his power, his voice was commanding gravel, even if it didn’t yet have the gravitas or range. Arthur noticed when John’s voice changed, it led to prolonged periods of silence, as though the young man wasn’t sure of his new sound. It felt like every year that passed he would say less and less, perhaps he was optimising his words. John turned 19, he spent his birthday with the gang, who’d grown in members over those three years, but gained no extra wisdom. Three days after, he and Arthur were travelling across two states, to uphold one of the few traditions they maintained in their chaotic lives. Each birthday, regardless of where the gang were hauled up, the pair would return to Valentine so John could partake in his favourite past time, bedding Beth.

“You ever going to ask that girl to marry you?” Arthur grunted.

“I don’t want to marry her!” he shot back. “I just like her company.”

“Could have fooled me, there are so many _ fine _ women you could pay to have sex with you, and we keep having to come back to this one, might as well marry her, it would be cheaper.” He didn’t respond, having grown used to the constant ribbing the others gave him about Beth. They didn’t know she was the only person to recognise his itch and knew how to scratch it. The older man didn’t press, she was a sore subject for the gang. When John was 16, Beth became his drug, and like all addicts, he took to thieving to fund his habit. Several times his fingers were found in the gang’s donation tin, earning him the back of Grimshaw’s hand. Arthur could empathise, developing his own taste for the medicine Beth offered, concealing his craving from his brother. In truth, she became a welcome distraction for both of them, her discretion her most prized asset, one they both cherished. Addiction came at a cost, the intense affection they’d displayed towards each other diminished. The kiss was never repeated, sharing cots stopped, Arthur couldn’t remember the last time they had any physical contact that wasn’t motivated by violence. From Brothers to almost lovers, too intolerant bastards.

Unbeknownst to them, Dutch made Beth an offer to join the gang, when he realised how much his sons were spending on her services. She loved them both, but in their most intimate moments revealed secrets and truths that shattered any romanticism about the outlaw life. It was far more brutal and crueller than the dime novels and papers suggested. While she would never say it, she believed she was far freer than the pair of them would ever be. When the time came, which it always did, the gang moved on with little notice. John didn’t get to say goodbye, he didn’t cry or whine just remained unnervingly quiet. The perceived loss hardened him, making him colder and more removed from the gang and Arthur. It took a whole winter of Susan’s nagging, blaming him for the boy’s remoteness, to break Arthur. With winter over and the gang back on their feet, he took John to visit Beth. Returning for his birthday and then Christmas. It became an ingrained ritual. He wasn’t sure why _ he _ still had to go, but every time he suggested staying behind, it was shot down by the younger man. Arriving in Valentine; the town had grown slightly, new livestock sheds were built in the centre to keep up with demand, a sign civilisation was establishing itself. It still retained a quaintness that other towns had lost, being so close to the grizzlies made it fresher, more rustic. The town’s beating heart still held onto those pioneering souls that put their roots and their bones in the ground here. They hitched Boadicea and Jezebel outside the saloon. 

“Go and sow your wild oats, I am getting some suppliers from the store.” John nodded as they parted ways. The intensity from their summer liaison when he was on the cusp of 16 had all but fizzled out. John still called Arthur’s name when he came, but it was Beth’s relentless penetration of him that got him there. He convinced himself it was out of habit more than anything. Returning from the store, Arthur discovered the younger man sat on the steps of the saloon, his cattleman hat hiding his eyes. 

“Don’t tell me, you missed the boat, and she has run off with someone else!” He chortled at the thought. 

“Shut up, Arthur!” the younger man spat venom towards him, before running off. 

“Where you going! There is probably someone else that can take her place.” His words unintentionally cruel needed to be heard. “It’s becoming ridiculous, only visiting one whore” he hollered. The gang prompted him to admit love, commit to marriage but he didn’t listen, now it was too late, _ little John Marston still as deaf, dumb and stupid as ever. _Having spent years swaying from gratitude towards Beth, for distracting John, to sheer jealousy. He settled on the realisation, John was not his and never would be, it was the right thing. He embraced the void left in his heart and began the process of closing himself off, he was about to turn 30 and conceded he wasn’t built for love, to give or receive. Ignoring the younger man’s dramatic exit, he headed into the saloon, in dire need of some refreshment. “Is he alright, Arthur?” The bartender asked concern etches on his face, he slid a beer over to the outlaw. 

“He’s a big boy, can withstand a little heartbreak” His tone intolerant.

“That’s a bit harsh, I know he and Beth were close.” He rolled his eyes, taking a sip of beer, “Plenty more fish in the sea.” The bartender paused for a moment, assessing that no one could be that cold, revealed the truth. “Beth is dead, she got shot by a customer a few months back.” Arthur’s chest constricted, his focus blurred, memory forcing him to empathise with the loss. He pondered for a moment, his younger self wouldn’t have been able to comfort his brother through this, it was too close to his own pain. Years of practice gave him the appropriate defences to show compassion without opening up his own wounds.

“Give me a bottle of whiskey.” he slapped some notes on the bar, taking the bottle offered. He found John at the chapel, sat next to a grave that belonged to Beth. Approaching tentatively, attempting to get the words right in his head. He didn’t speak well anymore, most words were barbed and sarcastic, concealing his real thoughts, unable to be as open as he once was.

“M’ sorry.” He passed the bottle over; John accepted the offer and took a substantial swig. They both sat silently, Arthur resting on his haunches as John cradled his knees, rocking slightly. Her grave was plain, stated a name, year of birth and death, only 24. As they imbibed more, Arthur could feel the resemblance between Beth’s end and that of his dear Eliza, it was getting too close.

“Should have married her, could have kept her safe.” John finally relinquished some of the torment in his mind. Arthur knew that feeling well, it was grief and guilt talking, the sort that eats at the soul and doesn’t lead to any kind of relief.

“No guarantee she would have lived any longer in the gang, we don’t have much luck with protecting our women.” The words stung something awful, Bessie, Annabelle, Eliza and now Beth, perhaps they weren’t the type of men that should love women.

“God Arthur, when did you get so bad at this?” He huffed in frustration. Arthur took another swig of whiskey, reminiscing about the times he would protect John from this type of pain, the cruelty of the world. Now he felt like it was his job to remind him of it, make him realise that for them there was no happy ending.

“Don’t know what to say, John, shit happens.” He could feel the wolfish gaze of the young man lashing out at him, a contemptuous hatred that sat like a barrier to any meaningful relationship. Arthur wasn’t the only one to change over the years. Soft John, the one with the doe eyes, who adored him completely had been consumed by the wolf. He was irritable most days, short-tempered and quick with it. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment it happened when the schism between them had become so great that they were no longer capable of any heartfelt words. Now getting through an hour without one of them insulting the other was a perceived success.

“Let’s get back if you are not interested in bedding one of the others?” John scoffed at the thought, he wanted some peace to mourn his friend, his lover and the only person in the world that knew who and what he was. There was no chance of that with Arthur’s cynicism, he’d become intolerant to sentiment. John couldn’t pinpoint the moment it happened when Arthur’s heart finally froze over. John picked some of the wildflowers growing nearby, placing them neatly on the grave, kissing his hand and pressing it against the cold stone. Arthur quivered, he still managed to show glimpses of tenderness that were outside his nature. Unable to match the boy’s affection for the dearly departed Beth, he poured her one last drink from the dregs of the whiskey bottle.

“Come on, we can get the next train, another three days wasted in the saddle don’t appeal.” His barbed comment ranked against John’s sides; he could easily have shot the man for his inconsiderate nature. Instead, he accepted the offer but kept a distance between them. The next train to St-Denis was an hour away, they stood at either end of the platform as though strangers, preferable to arguing.


	18. Ill Afforded Freedom

The winter of ’91 struck without warning, it’s frozen grasp trapping the gang further north than they planned to be. Incessant blizzards building a fortress of snow, trapping them, their movements pinned to a few feet, their eyes blinded by the white. They managed to haul up in an abandoned homestead, north of the mining town of Colter, but with few supplies and barely enough wood to keep warm, it took its toll. Hosea developed pneumonia, almost passing several times, he eventually rallied as the first caresses of spring touched the landscape but required time to convalesce. Dutch proclaimed returning to warmer climes was essential, to aid the recuperation of his oldest friend, and access to a Doctor to heal his scarred lungs. The gang took rooms in the Chinese Quarter of St Denis, mainly because it was cheap. Arthur hated it, the city was stifling, unwelcoming and rotten to its core. Any chance he got, he was out, along the Bayous and further north to the Heartlands, craving solitude and open space. He’d return to provide funds, which were quickly eaten up by Doctor’s bills and the enriched lifestyles the rest of the gang were developing while in the city. He knew he was carrying the brunt of the stain, as usual. Hosea too weak, Dutch too busy ingratiating himself into high society. Javier, John and new arrival Sean too busy getting drunk. Arthur also suspected all three had developed a taste for the opium dens that littered that part of town. As far as he was concerned, the sooner they got away from St Denis, the better.

The train pulled into the bustling station, they retrieved Boadicea and Jezebel from the horsebox located towards the back. Arthur was still amazed by particular progress, _ who’d have thought a horse transported on a train _. They didn’t speak much on the journey. John watched the scenery go by as Arthur secretly drew a sketch of him in his journal. He was still his muse, mainly because he was too dense to realise, he was being drawn. Everyone else would notice, changing their expressions, making themselves look unnatural or stiff. John possessed a natural air of confidence; it was strikingly evident when drawn by Arthur’s hand. They returned late in the evening, back to the dingy townhouse they currently called home. All rooms were devoid of life, suggesting the gang were partaking their usual evening pursuits in the local tavern. _ It’s all too easy to spend money in this godforsaken place _. He nodded to John, ushering him back out, they wandered three streets over, Dutch’s booming voice confirming their suspicions.

“Arthur! John! Didn’t expect you back so soon?” wrapping his arms around his sons’ shoulders, whiskey in one hand and a cigar in another. Neither mentions the reason for returning early. John retreated, his stiffness evident, clearly not enjoying the closeness of their father. Opting for the comfort of his preferred father, finding Hosea sat in the corner. Arthur watched, of _ course, he would go to Hosea for counsel _. He purchased a whiskey settling in, listening to the nonsensical gibberish his drunken family recited most nights when they were under the influence. The sooner he caught up, the better. Hosea and John held their tête-à-tête for a good hour, the affectionate squeeze of a hand or shoulder didn’t go unnoticed. _ Was he now jealous of Hosea? _ Arthur ignored the thought, telling himself not to care, the days of John bawling like a baby begging him for comfort were gone. Slap on the back and a swig of whiskey were all he needed; Arthur rose to get another.

John capitalised on the distraction taking the opportunity to leave, having recognised the monitoring glance from the older man. His privacy would be greatly restricted for the next few days, while Arthur ensured that any grief in him didn’t manifest into something stupid or dangerous. He yearned to be grateful, having the guardian angel that is Arthur Morgan watching over him, but he wasn’t. It smothered him, stopped him from releasing his rage and anxieties. Jealous that his older brother was afforded a level of freedom and he was left wanting, it was suffocating. It wasn’t Arthur’s job to protect him anymore, he was his own man.

“Where did John go?” Arthur hollered over to Hosea. 

“Leave him, Arthur, he needs time.” He shook his head, downing his freshly purchased drink. They didn’t have to clean up the mess, in this type of mood, John was prone to tremendous acts of stupidity. Most of which required Arthur’s intervention and his discretion. He didn’t know what Dutch or Hosea would do if they discovered half the situations John had got them into over the years. Against his nature and loyalty to the gang, Arthur became proficient at concealing John’s secrets. The night was close and sticky, a distant roll of thunder suggesting some relief was forthcoming, as a slight breeze picked up. The smoke from the chimney stacks created a ghostly fog illuminated by the orange tinge of the gas lights. Arthur hated St Denis; its appearance unnatural, almost otherworldly. In the dimness, he caught the silhouette of John’s trademark cattleman and his relaxed fluid gait disappearing down an ally way. Arthur lit a cigarette, starting his pursuit, keeping a reasonable distance so as not to alert the younger man to his presence.

He lost sight of him several times as they meandered through the claustrophobic winding narrow passages of the Chinese quarter. Unsavoury characters lurked in the shadows, mostly gang members keeping an eye on prostitutes selling their wares. The seediness made Arthur’s skin crawl. He knew John, the death of Beth would start to take hold, only physical pain would provide emotional relief. Arthur was the same, bloody knuckles, knife wounds, bullet holes and one hell of a hangover, that was how the sons of the Van Der Linde gang dealt with grief. The passages finally opened up to one of the main boulevards. John was nowhere to be seen, _ getting slow old man _. He scanned around; the dimmed light didn’t help. Then he saw it, a small doorway with a faint flicker of a gaslight sat above the mantle, for the initiated it was the sign of an opium den. Arthur squinted to see; the sign read Chan’s laundry, but these places were always concealed by a legitimate business.

_Goddamnit _, he huffed under his breath, his nerves twinging. He crossed the road, waiting for the bustle of horses and trams to get out of his way. Arriving at the window of the laundry; a small Chinese man sat in a makeshift booth, thick glass between them.

“What’s your poison?” the man asked. Arthur shrugged

“What did the last fella ask for?” The man eyed him suspiciously, conscious the law had taken to using underhanded tactics to raid fine establishments such as his. He stood on his stool, still too short to get a full view. A sardonic smile crossed his face as he realised Arthur was an old-time gunslinger from out west, a little kitsch for St Denis but not law enforcement. 

“The last man asked for a special treat, you wouldn’t want what he’s getting.” The little man cackled. Arthur felt a rush of anger, his fingers twitched with the desire to draw his weapon and blow the small man away. That would have to wait until he found John, he would have to tamper his ferocity. Having gained some experience of these places in his youth, he knew what to expect, not that he would ever admit it to anyone. 

“Can I watch what he is getting?” Arthur asked, adeptly. 

“Of course, you can sit in the gallery, it will be a dollar? or you can participate for two?” Arthur’s eyes turned grey.

“How many are participating?” The Chinese man smiled slyly, “It’s one of our busier nights and the fine specimen that walked through here will probably get most of the attention.” Arthur’s stomach rolled with disgust, but he concealed his discomfort with an amused smile. _ Was John the fine specimen? _

“Will he indeed, can’t miss out on that action,” he slammed two dollars on the counter,

“Through the door, on the left, changing rooms and lockers where you can leave your guns.” Arthur tipped his hat in thanks, feeling the unanswered desire to kill, making his muscles twitch involuntarily.


	19. One Night in St Denis

The smell of opium assaulted his nostrils, its potent floral aroma, sickly sweet and unforgettable. It hung thick in the air, unsettling his senses. Arthur opened the door for the patrons who were directed to go left, he was disgusted to be put in the same category. A piggish fat man, pulled down his trousers, revealing layers of skin that he did not wish to see. Three more men, pockmarked, clearly ravaged by illness, stood further away. One definitely in the late stages of syphilis, a black leather mould imitating his missing nose.   
  
“Good Evening, sir.” An older Chinese man ushered him in  
  
“Please remove your gun belt and clothes and place the robe on; the evening’s entertainment will begin shortly.” Arthur began to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt, still getting the measure of what the hell was going on.  
  
“S’cuse me partner” he called over to the fat man, who thankfully was now robed.   
  
“Have you attended one of these events before?” The fat man smiled, revealing a set of rotten yellow teeth.  
  
“Yes, it’s a rather provocative treat, they get young boys off the street. Provide them with opium, so they are nice and compliant.” Arthur nodded; the fat man drew closer. “Then we get to take it turns, whatever your predilection, there are no limits. Young ones are always the best, but I have been told we have a special treat tonight.”  
  
“Is that so?” He could feel his stomach turn uncontrollably, his thoughts were too clouded, Had John done this before? Is this what he was into now? Arthur challenged those thoughts, of course not! This was John, grief-stricken by the loss of Beth managing to get himself involved in the most grotesque orgy, and he was the main event. John probably didn’t even know such places existed, let alone the activities that went on inside them. Stupid bloody Marston. Arthur discreetly left the room, emptying the contents of his stomach into a potted plant. He needed to find John. There was a long corridor, dingy and black, a line of door’s either side. Behind them, he could hear muffled unpleasant cries. Young boys begging for it to stop. He clenched his fist, biting hard on it to stifle an animalistic roar. His skin was on fire, those cries reminiscent of John at 12. Arthur traversed the corridor, his bulky frame light and swift, trying each door and finding them locked. A set of plush red curtains framed the entrance to the viewing gallery for the stage, that was set a tier lower. It was rather grand and theatrical for a back-street laundry. Arthur peered down, his sight drawn to a strange contraption sat in the middle of the stage, suspended by ropes from the ceiling. Two sets of Leather-bound cuffs, studded, for wrists and ankles. Arthur shuddered what you have got yourself into? Voices halted his progress, he concealed himself behind a pillar.   
  
“Are the performers ready?” a man asked to his counterpart.  
  
“Almost, they have just been doped up.” The other man said.  
  
“Save the cowboy for last, he is going to please the appetites of our more discerning customers.” Arthur’s mind flashed with John’s body contouring in the contraption, the unpleasant patrons, with their deadly appetites leering towards him, salivating as they took his young body. His nerves began to twitch again, too much-unanswered anguish not to kill. Arthur let the two men’s voices disappear before sneaking into the passageway they had emerged from, there was only one door which he was grateful for. He walked with a focus fixed on it. An intense pain shot up his arm, a substantial hand clasping his wrist, its owner hidden in the shadows. A familiar grown of death filled the corridor as Arthur slammed his knife into the man’s neck, receiving a sticky spray of blood as confirmation of his kill. He caught the body as it spasmed and contorted, lowering it gradually back into the shadows from where it came. His need for blood sated, only slightly.  
  
Opening the door, a thick release of smoke bellowed out of the haze, irritating his eyes. He wanted to call out for John but couldn’t risk appearing out of place in this oasis of opium fuelled hell. Little boys, dressed in traditional Chinese silk robes meandered back and forth with pipes loaded for smoking. They didn’t acknowledge Arthur’s presence, probably high from inhaling the residual vapour that sat in the air. Framed beds littered the room, poking out from under soft mesh curtains, stained yellow from the incessant smoke. He moved lightly on the balls of his feet, checking every bed, thankfully most were unoccupied. He weaved in and out, making sure not to disturb the young boys. Aware his gory appearance would only provoke fear in ones so young, he lifted up his black bandana to hide his bloodied face. In the process, his eyes caught hold of a familiar shape, the unmistakeably worn boots of John. Arthur paused, inhaling a breath in an attempt to slow his heartbeats. Aware of the sight that would greet him wasn’t going to be welcome, if they were to escape with their lives, emotion had no place in his next movements. He swiftly stepped between the curtain. John’s body lay limp, the colour drained from him, eyes shot from inhaling opium. His greasy hair dishevelled across his sweat, soaked face. He didn’t acknowledge Arthur’s arrival, his large pupils staring straight through him. A small boy hovered, stroking up and down his bare chest with a scented salve, preparation for the grotesque pain that was planned for his unsuspecting body.   
  
He lifted the small boy off John, flashed him a sight of his revolver, pressing a finger to his lips, patted his arse, and sent him on his way. He struggled to lift the dead weight of John from the bed. His head, rank with sweat, resting loosely on his shoulder, the moron groaned in protest before returning to his flaccid state. Arthur stuck his head out to see the route was clear, John’s body cradled in his muscular arms. It was safe to move. His eye’s caught sight of another man, probably younger than John, the same distant look adorned his face. “God damn it!” He whispered to himself. He made swift work of hauling John’s carcass out of the den and into the corridor. Resting him on the wall, slapping the young man’s face to revive him, failing, then slapping him again for his own satisfaction. Through the fogged consciousness that John was fighting to retain, he could have sworn he saw Arthur. It couldn’t be real. Five minutes prior, he was introducing his mother to Beth, no amount of opium could convince him that was reality. A woman he’d never known meeting his painfully dead lover. He fell again, into deep cavernous space, hearing Arthur “Stay there, Marston!” Must be dreaming, Arthur never called him Marston when they were alone, that distance was for the gang’s benefit. Each time sleep called to him, a muffled bang would stir him, pretty orange lights and a familiar smell of burning metal, kept rousing him. Arthur flew in and out of his dreams, like some crazed avenging angel. An army of little cherubs running around, hailing his arrival, their rosy cheeks appearing blood red. John tried to grab one of them as it ran past, he wanted something to cuddle as he slipped again into another wave of opium-induced bliss. Eventually, the bliss turned to horror, from the shadows of his mind a fat man in a red robe ran straight towards him. His face contorted like Satan himself, rising from the pits of hell. John shuffled, trying to push the image away. A crack rang in his ears, the fat man’s head exploding in front of him, a mutilated horror his addled mind could not cope with.  
  
“Arthur!” John screamed as he did when his nightmares became too real. “Arthur, I don’t want to see it anymore.” Out of the darkness, his body appeared to levitate, moving quicker than light and lighter than a summer’s breeze, Arthur was carrying him. The sardonic man in the booth caught sight of them exiting. “Where you going with him, he is my main event.” Arthur stopped, his blue flame eyes captivating the man in sheer terror.

“If I ever see you again, you will wish you were the main event.” The man cowered.


	20. I shot my baby down by the River

He cradled John, the fog bank concealing them from any unwanted attention their appearance might draw. The distant slow-rolling horns of ships sat in the estuary announcing their arrival at the docks. He waited for the impending storm to break, hoping its freshness would knock John out of his opium-induced haze, so Arthur could knock him out proper. He placed him down on a stack of crates. Allowing himself a few moments to return from his rage, this time proving harder than usual. His face contorted with a morose sadness, he almost lost John in the most depraved way. His mind churning through all the possibilities that could have prevented him from saving the younger man. He vomited again. Arthur sat next to John’s limp body, the dimness from a nearby gaslight allowing him the sight to write in his journal. Chicken scratches replacing his usual cursive scrawl, unable to regain full control and stop the shaking. He ripped out the page when he finished, listing ways to kill John was cathartic but not memories he wanted to keep.

“Arthur, what happened?” John croaked; the timbre of his tone was like nails down a chalkboard. _ Did he actually expect him to fill in the blanks? _ A crackle of thunder rumbled; the earlier storm was nearing.

“You got high on opium.” John sat up, rubbing his head. He tried to stand, wresting his wretched body against the crate.

“Yeah, I know that bit, where did you come from?” Arthur’s skin prickled, the rage still undampened. The first drops of rain vaporising on his hot skin.

“Don’t matter where I came from, just lucky I was there.” Arthur lit a cigarette to calm his nerves. “You managed to get high on opium, in a den that provides other services.” Arthur wanted to see the young man’s mental cogs strain before he gave clarity to what happened. John merely doubled over and vomited, his stomach adjusting to the poisoning. 

“I know about their other services, why do you think I was there?” Arthur’s eyes widened, completely blown away by the admission. The sky lit up, revealing his darkening expression.

“You knew what they were going to do to you and you still went through with it?” He shook his head; it was all too surreal. The rain started to crash around them. John still wrecked from opium could sense this was going to end in a fight whether he tried to placate the older man or not, might as well get it over with.

“Arthur what I choose to do and who I choose to do it with is none of your goddamn business.” Arthur rose to his feet, his stomach rolled with sickness as he wretched his guts up with bile. John’s casualness to it all hitting him with the force of runaway train.

“Why do you care what happens to me, most days you can barely say good morning, you pretend that you protect me, but all you do is control me.” John felt protected by the remaining glow of the opium and therefore emboldened to speak the truth as he saw it.

“Pretend to protect you, pretend! I just shot 10 men dead and stabbed another in the neck, so many people saw my face this place will be full of wanted posters in the morning.” John recoiled at the realisation that his drug-induced hallucination was real. Arthur stalked back and forth like a caged animal, clearly unable to sheath his anger. John didn’t have a response to this, other than to relax his muscles ready for a fight.

“I didn’t ask you to come in all guns blazing…I could have taken care of myself.” Arthur punched him square in the face, his right eye swelled instantly, and his nose gushed with blood. Arthur was more than scared, it wasn’t just about his safety, John was actually dangerous, out of control and potentially sick in the head. Arthur couldn’t cope with the thought, he doubled over, wrenching again over the side of the pier.

“I see I wasn’t the only one enjoying what they were selling.” John snarled, pinching his nose in an attempt to contain the blood. Rumbles of thunder deafening him to the contorted howls of the older man. Arthur was incensed, John was never the most grateful person, but this thing before him was not the boy he knew. A drug-addled, perverted monster. Arthur wanted to hurt him, make him feel half of the pain he was feeling. From his satchel, he pulled out the object John held most dear, the item he was the custodian of until John was ready to take responsibility. He conceded that day would never come.

“When you gave me your watch and asked you to wait for you, wait until you were ready.” Arthur’s eyes turned grey, no emotion could filter through, or he wouldn’t do it. John’s face spasmed with apprehension, his eyes locked on the outlaws, who appeared ready to kill.

“I didn’t realise that I had to wait for you to explore every prevision known to man.” John’s cupid bow lips parted in acknowledgement, Arthur knew, knew what he’d been doing with Beth, knew what he planned to do that evening. He shuddered, Arthur viewed it as a perversion, he raised his blood-covered hand in an attempt to calm the situation.

“Arthur please, please don’t do anything you will regret.” He whined those words cut through Arthur, everything he did with John was tinged with regret.

“I thought I knew you, believed we brought you up to be better than that.” Arthur rubbed his thumb across the embossed case one last time. His arm fell back behind his head as he threw it, instantly regretting it. 

“Arthur, no!” John screamed as he flung his body forward in an attempt to catch it. John leapt towards the flying object, instinct taking over, securing the slightest touches of his precious watch as it flew through the air. Then he began to descend, the sudden realisation that he was falling into deep water and he still couldn’t swim. 

“Arthur!” he yelled, his mind flashed with the thought of dying, Arthur refusing to save him, watching as he descended into mirk of the Mississippi bayou. He was diving in before John even hit the water. Passing his flailing arms and legs; as they submerged deeper into the gloomy river. He reached for his shirt, pulling him towards him. Time stood still for a second, John’s hair removed from his face revealing the boy he once was, his doe eyes filled with terror, fixed on the older man for reassurance. Arthur wrapped his arms around him and pulled them up to the surface. Gasping for air, John held on tight, his arms and legs wrapping around Arthur’s frame, making it impossible for the older man to stay buoyant.

“John!” He gasped as his head dipped under, keeping the boy aloft, so he didn’t do the same. He returned to the surface, gasping as he struggled to keep John afloat and swim.

“You are going to kill us.” He went under a second time, this time unable to keep them both above the water, the emerged, John, panicking more.

“Let go, I got you.” John finally did as he was told, skittishly trying to retain as much contact as Arthur would allow, while not drowning them both. Arthur navigated them to the stilts of the pier, the thick wooden poles were slimily to touch, but he needed to catch his breath.

“Wrap yourself around that,” he instructed, ensuring the boy was secure before lying back in the water, floating, trying to steady the erratic beating of his heart. The river was calmer, the thunderous rain subsiding, posing no threat for those who could swim. He gazed at the stars for a while, Gods evening canopy in all its grandeur always had a soothing effect. His body returned to a controllable state, though nowhere near his optimum. He swam back to join John, the young man shaking, shock setting in and the coldness of the water not helping.

“Beth used to do it for me.” He quivered, revealing his truth. Arthur could not countenance the lovely Beth doing anything so perverse as to what he observed in the opium den. 

“Beth used to tie you up on a chair and let paying men have their way with you?” John’s doe eyes stared deeply into Arthur’s, both realising they were not speaking about the same things. Arthur laughed, his warm chuckles releasing any tension that still remained between them. 

“What did you ask for?” he quipped. John felt trapped, wrapped around the filth of the pier with nowhere to escape. Realising Arthur didn’t know his secret but would inevitably find out. He considered letting go and allowing himself to drown, but Arthur wouldn’t allow that to happen.

“It’s embarrassing!” He protested.

“Not as embarrassing as being raped by a guy with syphilis.” he chuckled again. It was the least bit funny, but he always found humour was needed when faced with such darkness. He felt his stomach roll again. Still, there was nothing left in it except for the sick burning of the opium. He gasped, the reality of his actions, guilt that Arthur had to step in once again, saving him from his own stupidity. John couldn’t hide it any longer, this secret, one he’d kept expertly for the past three years, could have killed him. His naivety to the world that his predilection had drawn him to was not something he could sustain. _ Take Arthur with you _, a promise made that should have been heeded. John reached for his brother’s arm, the older man reluctantly closing the gap, following the younger man’s direction. Much to his annoyance, he found those skinny arms wrapping tenderly around his neck, he wasn’t ready for such closeness. John placed his lips to Arthur’s ear and spoke the truth about what he and Beth used to get up to, what he thought he was getting this evening. Arthur recovered the space between them, pushing his arms away and holding him at a distance as he trod water for both of them. His gaze sat above the waterline, his lips below, as though to conceal any words he wanted to speak.

“Say something, Arthur?” he pleaded for reassurance.

“We need to get out,” Arthur said. Shaking his head in agreement, he placed his arms on Arthur’s broad shoulders. Stifling a sob; it was all too much. Beth’s death, almost being raped, Arthur not responding to his secret. His stupidity almost getting them killed, twice in one night. He often pondered his own death, a bullet was a romantic way to die, how outlaws should go. He realised that in his current state, that wasn’t the death he was lining himself up for, syphilis was a horrible disease. He vomited again, over Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Thanks, John.” His voice was reticent.

“I am sorry.” He sobbed.


	21. A Bond we Share Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all that have had the stamina to stick with this, 21st Chapter hope you enjoy it ;-) Thanks for all support and comments it is really appreciated.

They looked like a pair of swamp rats rolling into the saloon asking for a room. Dutch and Hosea could not get the slightest whiff of this one. Arthur was determined, John’s secretive nature was going to end them both if it continued, let the bloodletting begin. The owner refused them a room until they visited the bathhouse. Both were grateful to the request, desiring some time apart to regain their senses and sheath some of the hurt feelings. Once clean, Arthur ordered food, finding a secluded table in the back of the saloon. John joined him eventually, appreciative of the sustenance, the residual opium gnawing at his stomach. The older man sipped at his whiskey, his emotions somersaulting in his mind. _ This day was going to make an interesting journal entry _.

“So, Beth used to penetrate you with an object?” His tone authoritative, let the interrogation begin. John bit his lip, nodded lightly. He didn’t know how to respond.

“You obviously enjoyed it?” The question felt rhetorical, he poured himself a whiskey from the bottle on the table, its burn stabilising his shakes.

“Have you ever been with a man?” The question was loaded, Arthur was taking advantage of the situation to discover the scope of his experience. He shook his head

“No.” Arthur sipped his drink, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands firmly framing his frustrated face. He wanted to know everything and nothing at the same time. John’s inability to communicate was not helping, everything held so tightly to his chest, it was like pulling teeth.

“Do you want to _ be _ with a man?” he finally asked, conceding that his predilection didn’t necessarily mean he was an invert.

“You offering?” John breaking his monosyllabic response, challenging his brother’s interrogation into his sexual preferences.

“I am trying to understand.” Arthur defended his position as noble, unsure who he was trying to convince. John downed his whiskey, pouring another.

“What do you want to know?”Arthur thought about it, _ everything _, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that he had no right to ask.

“What do you want to tell me?”John shifted in his seat, he wanted to tell him, but experience told him not to reveal anything in public areas. The conversation they were about to have would be the type the gang loved to eavesdrop on. Overheard discreet conversations held in saloons were ninety per cent of the groups leads. Even worse, to be heard by some self-righteous zealot who thought all inverts should be hanged. 

“Not here,” John said, sincerely. Arthur understood his caginess, retrieved the keys to their room, purchasing another bottle of whiskey, it was needed. They moved awkwardly around each other in the room; their clothes hummed with the dampness of the river. Both making swift work of undressing, placing their garb next to the fire to dry correctly. In their union suits, they sat on two chairs feet apart, the warmth of the fire melting the ice in their bones. Arthur poured them another whiskey before his big calloused hands ushered John to speak.

“The first time I was with Beth, she worked out, I wasn’t interested.” Arthur nodded, trying to be measured in his movements to reassure John, the omission clawed a bit, remembering the day vividly when he took John to the saloon. _ Did he do it just to please him? _His mind trembled with the small mercy that Beth, adept at discretion was his first.

“She had this object, one that would penetrate the both of us.” Arthur’s lips twitched slightly as he realised what this object was, usually used by two women. He tilted his head to conceal his amused gaze. The revelation didn’t provide any more clarity to what John was, displaying the wants of an invert, achieving them with the opposite sex, using an object that female inverts used for gratification.

“You are a bit of an enigma, aren’t you?” His usual droll tone was delivered in an unusually thoughtful way, _ was he tired or sad or both? _

“I like the feeling of being filled.” John’s legs twitched; it was embarrassing to speak so openly. “The stretch.” Arthur shuffled in his chair, his mind imagining, forcing his blood down to regions it had no right to be in. Nothing about any of this made him feel aroused, but it was John, his weak spot.

“I know what it means, but Hosea said I needed to be careful. Beth seemed the best of both worlds, I get what I need, and she wasn’t a threat.” Arthur rose from his seat; his member was stood half to attention, it wasn’t appropriate. Thinking of what John needed was distracting him. It all made sense, Beth scratched an itch, one that wasn’t safe to get scratched. With that option gone, he sought it elsewhere, naively thinking he could walk into any house of ill repute and recreate what he had with Beth.

“She was special, John, a one-off.” John’s skin tingled, hearing the acknowledgement of how vital Beth was to him. 

“I don’t know if you will find that again.” He dared to look at the younger man, his eyes forlorn with loss. It began the melting process, although he retained his stern expression, not willing to let the boy off that easily. He listened to what was being said, wanted to make it better, tell him it was ok. But he couldn’t promise that there was more chance of John being hung by the law than finding another Beth. The only option was for Arthur to provide guidance and advice, without judgement or fear, he wasn’t sure how that was going to work. Arthur’s skin pricked with exhaustion, _ what a night _. While he empathised with John’s predicament, he was still tense with anger. His naivety could be excused, if not forgiven. Nevertheless, smoking opium, losing control, not having the awareness to sense the danger he was in, felt like a bridge too far. He needed release, too much pent-up energy coursing through his veins. His mind flashing between John and Beth and back to the opium den. He would pay for that eventually, but tonight he just wanted to regain some sense of control.

John could sense Arthur was pensive, he was stalking around the room again. John didn’t know what to do, the reality of his situation was dawning on him. His desire would probably put him in danger many more times in his life. He could not contemplate never being touched, might not be for a while after tonight. Still, he would eventually try and seek out company again. His head dropped with the despair of it all, suddenly aware of his fragile mortality. He gripped the whiskey glass hard, making his knuckles white, anything to control the urge to scream. Arthur knew that feeling was feeling it himself, against his better judgement, he made a decision.

“Get on the bed!” His authoritative voice commanded. John frowned, confused.

“I won’t ask again.” John rose from his chair and moved towards the bed.

“Place your hands on the headboard.” Arrived another command. He shuffled up the bed, as instructed, placing both his hands on the headboard. He couldn’t see Arthur but could feel his energy stalking behind him.

“Arthur?” His tone quizzical, unsure what was happening.

“Did I say you can speak?” His voice tinged with aggression. John became still, slightly scared, was he going to hurt him, kill him. A bullet in the head was kinder than the eventual noose they both knew he was heading for. A sharp pain landed on his backside, shooting up his spine. He yelped, turning to see what caused it.

“Eyes forward,” Arthur ordered. Another snap landed in the same place, the impact from the first making it overly tender. John’s knuckles turned white gripping the headboard tight, anticipating another thrash. _ Why was he doing this, punishing him like a schoolboy? _A third landed, this time on the other side. John crumbled as the burning sensation covered his ass. Before he could recover his senses, a calloused hand ran through his hair, yanking him back, the older man’s solid chest behind him. _ What was going on? _The other hand closed around his throat, tightening its grip, holding him stable against his tense muscular body. He didn’t fight, accepting his end at the hands of his brother, it seemed right that Arthur saw to it before anyone else did.

“This is what you get when you disobey me,” his husky voice whispered into the younger man’s ear. Arthur held him tight as his other hand released his locks, travelled down his union suit, ripping at the buttons. With access roughly gained, he reached in feeling John’s warm, clammy chest, locating a nipple, pinching it with his finger and thumb. A gasp left his cupid bow lips, the sensation gratifying in comparison to the sting on his ass and his scalp.

“You going to be a good boy for me.” He growled. John’s mind was shot, he had no comprehension of what this was.

“Speak!” he shouted, applying pressure to his throat.

“Yes,” John garbled.

“Yes, what?” he loosened his grip slightly realising he was struggling to speak.

“Yes, Arthur, I will be a good boy.” Arthur moaned with satisfaction. Pushing his throbbing hard-on into the younger man’s clothed ass, John’s pupils were wild, he squealed, feeling the substantial force thrust against his burning cheeks. _ This is what it was, Arthur was getting off punishing him _. Before he had a chance to process his thoughts, the next instruction came.

“Get your dick out.” He bucked against his rump as he said it. John complied unbuttoning the rest of his union suit. Releasing his bulging member from the confines of its clothed cage. Arthur dragged the rest of the outfit down his body, leaving it resting below his hips, exposing his raw ass.

“Open your mouth.” He whispered. John felt two long fingers rub against his tongue.

“Suck them, boy.” He massaged his tongue around the two rough digits, dancing it around each, imagining that throbbing member filling his mouth.

“That pretty mouth is making me so hard” he gasped “You like making me hard, Boy?” John stuttered a moan, almost losing control over the older man’s words. Arthur’s newly moistened fingers padded his tight hole. He quivered in anticipation. The first finger penetrating his tightness. He could feel his muscles pushing against the intrusion.

“Relax John, I know _ you _ can take it.” He said suggestively, his sultry tones chiming like church bells in the young man’s head. He smiled, it had been a while, but Arthur eventually worked him enough to loosen him up, slipping in the second finger, he began to pump.

“Arthur!” he moaned at the heavenly feeling of finally having those fingers penetrating him.

“Let me see you touch yourself.” His words had become warmer, the aggression now giving way to tenderness. John found his stiffened member already leaking from the over-stimulation of Arthur’s foreplay. He began to pump, trying to match the same rhythm of the fingers in his ass. Arthur tightened the grip on his throat again, making it hard for him to catch his breath.

“This will make it good; I promise,” he reassured him, conscious that the hanging from his youth was a mental scar that could be triggered at any time. John blinked his long lashes confirming his trust in Arthur, submitting to his dominance.

“You look so beautiful being fucked by my fingers.” He ran kisses along his shoulder, each one burning into his skin. “Now let me see you come.” John’s mind began to elevate, disappearing into another world. The tension released from his groin and the tell-tale pre-emptive rolling warmth started to rise in his body. It was so intense, almost intolerable, as ribbons of cum expelled from his swollen penis. His bones collapsed, Arthur held him, his mass cocooning around his smaller frame, supporting him as he melted out of existence.

John regained a semblance of his own being, the light guiding him back into the room. Finding his body nestled neatly on Arthur’s broad chest. The older man delicately stroking his arm. Sending waves of electricity through his overstimulated body. He didn’t have the strength to protest, his boneless hand limply landing on a sculpted peck.

“Welcome back.” Arthur kissed his forehead. A garbled slur of words left his mouth.

“Lost your voice?” He mocked. He moaned an adorable frown on his face, disorientation mixed with intense pleasure. He planted kisses on his forehead, his nose which had swelled and bruised then placed the lightest kiss on his lips.

“I know I can’t replace Beth and it will be different, but hopefully you think I am good enough.” John let out a breathless laugh, all he could muster in his current state, a satisfied smile on his face. Arthur Morgan, his cowboy, the man of his dreams, would think he was a substitute for the woman that was a substitute for him. Having given him the best of orgasm of his life still has to check if he is good enough.

“What’s so funny?” His eyebrows raised intrigued to what had tickled the boy.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.” John retorted, his body melting into sleep.


	22. Preoccupied

Leaving the hotel, the world appeared different, for the first time, John could see the beauty in the most mundane things. The stylised French window shutters that sat ornate along the avenues. Framed by window boxes bursting with the most vibrant colours, pinks, violets, reds, all flowers he could not name. He knew Arthur spent hours locating, picking, identifying and drawing flowers. He wanted to do the same if it meant he could be close to his handsome cowboy. To submerge himself in the older man’s passions, in the hope that he would become a passion too.He glided through the streets as though walking on clouds, the ethereal light of the sunrise lighting the cobbles before them. His body wanted to cry out in pain for the abuse and torture he’d put it through the night before, but his mind was too light to allow such feelings to penetrate through. Tell the angels in heaven John Marston was drunk with love. Arthur woke them early, his mind focussed on getting out of St Denis. Pre-empting the law mobilising to hunt down the perpetrator of the massacre at Chan’s laundry. They meandered through the passageways, staying off the main boulevards as much as possible. He didn’t tell John, but while he’d killed a fair few the night before, he’d left witnesses who could quickly provide the law with a credible description of him.

He slapped John’s sore ass, the younger man yelped in pain, it certainly wasn’t the erotic sensation of the night before. “What was that for?”

“Pay attention idiot, I want to get out of St Denis unnoticed, and you’re floating about like some prancing dandy.” He grumbled. John fluttered his lashes and an alluring smile presented on his face. No amount of grouchy Arthur was going to spoil his high. It was more potent than any opium. Still floating, his wrist was clenched into the other’s calloused hand. He was pulled across a street at speed until they found cover in the next set of meandering alleyways. He slipped loose from the grip momentarily, sliding their fingers together intentionally, holding hands like lovers escaping the rain. Arthur allowed it for few moments until his caution returned. John considered the older man was a bit too vigilant, it was barely 6 am, the streets were empty. While he’d massacred those in the den, what self-respecting agent of the law was tracking down the killer of perverts, likely he did them a favour. He enjoyed the whimsical hedonism of being awake at dawn after such an intoxicating night. He knew Arthur was lost to him, his focus shifting, as it always did, to some other priority, but he was accepting of it. Realising that it didn’t matter, whether it took days, weeks, months or three years, his cowboy always came back, eventually. It was enough, will always be enough. He smiled again thoughtfully; this time, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Why are you so coy?” He growled again

“Because I think… I am happy, and I haven’t felt this way before.” He laughed; a tear rolled down his cheek.

“John.” Arthur caressed his cheek catching the tear, he wanted to melt into the sentiment, hoping he was the reason for this unadulterated joy, but he didn’t have time. 

“You sure you ain’t still high on opium?” John kicked him lightly. Now challenged, he wasn’t sure, it felt like love but could just be a reaction to the drug. As they neared their townhouse, the strain of parting ways bore down on the younger man. Arthur would go and get himself lost in the wilderness until the heat died down. John would stay behind, managing the families suspicions of where the other was. They both agreed that the little the gang knew about the previous night, the better. He stuck his head out to check the coast was clear, John still confident that his assessment of the risks being minimal, walked out passed him. Calloused hands caught his waist, lifting him and pressing him against the wall of the alcove. Arthur’s alerted eyes watching the street as the clattering of hooves drew nearer. John was mesmerised, studying his lovers distracted face, his jaw jagged and stubbled, almost concealing his scarred chin. His muscles permeating from his thick neck, sweat gleaming, good enough to eat. His eyes grey with focus on the street, the kind of eyes that if set on him, he was sure death would follow, but they were preoccupied. John felt compelled to distract them, make them warm again. He palmed his hand against Arthurs clothed and flaccid cock. The older man turned, facing him with a mixture of relief and confusion, as a horse with no owner trotted past. John noted his hesitation, he was quicker more agile and knew their surroundings better than the wayward outlaw. He gripped his crotch fully, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to have control, pushing him back into a concealed stairwell, the rooms upstairs were vacant, so they wouldn’t be disturbed. John pulled him aside, resting his forehead on Arthur’s, gazing intensely into his eyes.

“Promise me you won’t leave it three years until you touch me again,” Arthur smirked, that was the easiest promise he would ever make to John. The boy bit on his lip suggestively, like a wanton whore begging for business, his expression was alluring, it was too disruptive to Arthur’s focus.

“Hey, I enjoyed last night, _ eventually _. I promise when we get the chance, we will do it again.” He said sincerely, what they found in each other was electric, their skin still flush with excitement. Arthur rested his arms above John’s shoulders, pinning the boy to the spot. John’s cheeks blushed not used to being pliable to a dominant force. The older man was no fool, he knew life, especially one as chaotic as there’s, always got in the way but was willing them to have this moment together.

“I have something for you.” He reached into his satchel, suspending between them a beautifully engraved Onyx watch. John stood to attention, his face bearing all the bewilderment of someone locating a lost treasure.

“How did you?” He studied the watch as though it wasn’t real.

“Actually, I dived in to save it, you were just conveniently close by.” He chuckled.

“Arthur!” He slapped his shoulder in playful protest. Before planting an honest kiss on his lips, instantly breaking it, turning his attention back to his most prized possession.

“Do you know how much it cost me? Can’t let it sink to the bottom the Mississippi.” He said in his droll southern tone, placing his hands on the young man’s hips pinning him to the wall, steadying him. John wasn’t going to rise to it, everything had been far too special to be spoiled by his childish quips.

“Thank you, Arthur,” he wrapped his arms around the outlaw, allowing those piston arms to absorb his small frame.

“The mechanisms are damaged by the water, there is a stash of money under my cot. Take it to a Jewellers and get it fixed.” They held each other for a few more moments, rocking gently from side to side. Arthur inhaling his aroma, fresh pine, stale opium and a bit of river. 

“When the heat dies down, write to me. There is a post office in Rhodes, I’ll make sure I stop by every couple of days, let me know when you can visit.” John nodded to the instruction; excited Arthur was already thinking about their next meeting. They kissed delicately on the lips, the softest gentlest caress, it wasn’t enough. Their eyes locked, burning with passion, experience telling them anything more was folly, _ what if they were seen? _John was swept off his feet by a brutal force, instinctively wrapping his leg around his waist to anchor himself. The power of the wall crushing against his spine, he groaned from the impact. Arthur didn’t allow him to protest, pushing their lips together with force, almost consuming the boy. He struggled to participate; being driven by the force of Arthur’s passion. Their saliva mixing as their tongues fought for dominance, rolling intensely and pushing hard. 

His hips rolled against the torso of the older man, trying to find the pressure to sate his throbbing member. His breath hitched with desire as he moved again. Arthur allowed him to fulfil his need, as his own lips swelled along the youngster’s neck. The virgin skin required his attention, sucking and biting, pulling moan after moan of satisfaction. He licked along the assaulted surface, trying to reduce the burn for the boy, nipping along his jaw and returning to his moistened lips. John’s hooded lids, pupils dilated, required study, committed to memory to be drawn later. If they never touched again, the image of John losing control under his touch would be his last thoughts as he slipped into his final sleep. John could feel the warmth pool, devoid of direct touch he was still lost in the toxicity of Arthur. The man’s eyes were set on his as he began another assault of his mouth. The intensity was too much making him buck with abandon. Amazed that this much stimulation could be achieved with clothes on. His swollen member was seeping cum as he gasped “Arthur.” His grip digging hard into the older man’s shoulders. Arthur broke the force of their kiss, returning to gentle feathered caresses along his cheek and neck.

“You ok?” he whispered aware the pressure had diminished between them. John mumbled, his hair damp with sweat, sticking to his face, his lids fully closed. Arthur released the young man’s legs from around his waist, his feet buckling as they reached the floor.

“John?” he was bemused by his boneless partner.

“I came” he omitted breathlessly.

Arthur chuckled; John was a lot easier to please than any woman he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

“You have five minutes princess, then I have to leave.” John scowled as he tried to get his baring’s. This orgasm was nowhere near as powerful as the previous night, but it still made his legs shake involuntarily.

“Oh, and come up with a good excuse for the state of your neck...and your face.” John reached up, feeling the rising welts Arthur placed on his neck. John bit his lips, feeling the pressure of time ticking before he knew it, he was alone.


	23. Avenging Angel

“John, son, where have you been?” Hosea alerted everyone to his return.

“Oh John, look at the state of you, what happened to your face?” Grimshaw pecked at him. “Look at your neck, it’s unseemly what young women do today.”

“What did she do John, beat you up when you didn’t satisfy her.” Sean’s Irish twang cut across the group, he was a joker. John smirked, at least it appeared his welts were from a woman.

“Did you see Arthur? He went to find you?” Hosea said. This was the beginning, John was not as good as Arthur at deflecting, revealing half-truths, subtle lies, knowing which to use and pre-empting what the next five questions could be.

“Yeah, he caught up with me.” Susan served him a plate of grits, forcing him to sit at the table.

“Where is he now?” John shrugged, filling his mouth with the grainy substance to limit his engagement with the conversation.

“Did he do this to you?” Grimshaw grabbed his nose, he yelled in pain.

“You two will be the death of me, I am amazed you haven’t killed each other yet.” She began cleaning the wound, reaching for the iodine to anaesthetise.

“Susan let the boy eat his food.” She retreated instantly, only Dutch was allowed to speak to her like that.

“And why do you smell like a sewer? your clothes are ruined.” John took another mouthful of grits.

Hosea leaned over and sniffed the boy. “God John, you been swimming in the river?”

“No, can’t swim.” John smiled with his mouth full; a truth was always the best way to deflect.

“Well you finish eating your food, and then you can strip and give me them to wash,” Grimshaw announced as she continued cleaning up the breakfast table. John remembered he couldn’t take his clothes off, not without revealing the mess he made in his union suit. The mess Arthur helped him make in his union suit. A content smile washed over his face as his mind relived their most recent moment together. A reserved knock was placed on the door to their apartments, it was Thursday, the doctor doing his rounds and visiting the still weak Hosea. 

“Good morning folks, apologies for the early intrusion” The man appeared dishevelled, the weight of the world upon his shoulders. “I have been up all night and decided to do my rounds early before taking to my bed.” The doctor entered placing his large leather bag on the breakfast table. He was a mild but honest man; the gang valued his candour and his knowledge. While none of them had the pleasure of formal education, they were taught to appreciate the practical insights gifted to them in the form of books. The doctor was a part of civilisation they could respect.

“What kept you awake sir?” Hosea enquired out of politeness.

“Terrible business, one that shouldn’t be discussed in the presence of woman and children.” The doctor nodded slightly toward Susan and John, both took umbrage with the suggestion.

“I think you will find women to be a lot harder than you give them credit for.” Susan chastised. “Yeah and I’m nineteen!” John protested with less authority.

“My apologies, always have to check the sensibilities before divulging such horrors.” The doctor began to rummage in his case, looking for his stethoscope, his hands shaking, and his body tense.

“Sir I implore you to sit down, take a breath and have a drink.” Dutch instinctively reached for his whiskey. The doctor accepted which shook them all, considering it was barely past eight in the morning.

“Speak please, you will find comfort and counsel here, we are not inexperienced to the horrors of the world.” Hosea’s astute command of words alleviating the doctor’s nerves.

“I was called out late, to a scene of complete carnage, eleven bodies lay mutilated in a concealed house of ill repute.” The doctor sipped his whiskey. John shuddered; it was closing in already.

“Of course, I could not do anything for the departed, nor in truth would I want to. Having witnessed their appetites and perversions.” The group closed in, placing themselves around their small breakfast table.

“I was brought there to help find these monsters victims, small children, the place was littered with their presence, but none were there.” Susan gasped, _ not as hardy as she thought. _

“Please madam do not mistake me, they were free and alive, some unknown force had saved them from their bonds, releasing them to the liberty of the city.” John’s lip quivered the unknown force of Arthur Morgan.

“We spent the night combing the city for these cherubs, the ones we found were bloody and dirty, but their injuries were minor, it’s their minds I worry for.” He downed the last of his whiskey, Dutch offered another, but the learned man refused.

“We homed them on the old church on Gasper street in St Francis. The Nuns and Brothers there will care for them, redeem their souls.” The doctor reached into his bag, finally retrieving his stethoscope. “I just pray they are too young to remember.” John bowed his head, having spent years being told _ to wait until he was older _, he knew that there was never such a thing as too young, he always remembered. The doctor gave Hosea his usual prescription, still not fully recovered. They shook hands, and he departed ready for his next patient. The gang sat in silence, the odd tut and gasp to the revelation. Their silence mainly out of respect for John, the familiar darkness resting over his face. The latch of the door clicked. Javier, with his statement bowler hat and distinctive cravat, appeared.

“Have you seen the papers? The streets are buzzing, the law everywhere.” The excited man planted the paper on the table. John grabbed it before Hosea had the chance, needing to know what the perception of Arthur’s act was:

** Avenging Angel Slays Eleven **– read the headline

“Well, read it, John, we all want to know,” Dutch commanded.

_ “The residents of St Denis have been rocked by the mass slaying that is reminiscent of the bible’s Sodom and G.o.m.o.r.r.a.h” _ John’s reading never improved beyond the basics. “ _ Residents awoke this morning to find Chan’s Laundry in the Chinese Quarter was a front for a seedy den of inequity. Law enforcement is investigating the death of eleven men, believed to be patrons and employees of this establishment.” _

_ “Officer Lambert of the St-Denis police said: while these vermin, that committed unspeakable sins against children have been eradicated from our streets. We cannot tolerate vigilantism; the full force of St Denis Police force will hunt the perpetrator down and deliver swift justice.” _

_ “Survivors of the incident, have described the perpetrator as a young gunslinger, wearing an old gambler hat, a black cowhide coat and blue shirt. His face was hidden under a silk bandana, but all commented on his eyes which were an amazing flame blue.” _

_ “Should this man receive a medal? Be hung for his crimes? or is he an angel sent from heaven to punish our sins?” _

_ “If you know this man please contact the St Denis press.” _

John crumpled the paper in his hands, the silence of the gang was deafening.

“Sounds like Arthur” Shaun piped up not yet fully acquainted the code of the gang. Never implicate a gang member in crimes, even if you are sure it was them. Even in the company of themselves, they were taught to be suspicious, walls have ears.

“John, you sure you weren’t with Arthur last night?” Hosea said John’s mind raced, unsure what to do.

“You would tell us if he was in trouble son, we can’t help him if we don’t know?” Hosea’s reasoning almost breaking the young man.

“It’s not Arthur” he protested still unsure how he was going to convince them without revealing too much of their other activities. “He found me last night after I left you, we were together all night.” John conceded.

“So, he did hit you?” Susan grabbed his tender nose. “Honestly, can you go one day without fighting.” John flashed a look to his fathers, neither seemed convinced, Dutch’s smouldering looks tensing the young man’s muscles.

“He found me down at the docks.” John flashed Hosea a pleading look, finding swift acknowledgement in the man. “We fought, ending up in the river, which is why I smell like a sewer.” John took a deep breath.

“For God sake, John, the pair of you will be the death of me.” Susan grabbed the bottle of whiskey, pouring a glass.

“Why were you at the Docks, son?” Dutch probed.

“Dutch, John is mourning, Beth is dead, he needed space. Arthur is probably blowing off steam somewhere, you know what he is like.” Hosea rose, ushering John out of the room to change. He quickly left, grateful for the older man’s intervention.


	24. Love in a time of Hardship

John slept the day away, truly exhausted by it all. He was eventually awoken by a bony hand caressing his temple. His eyes focussed in the darkness, finding Hosea perched on his bed.

“Hello, sleeping beauty, we were worried you’d passed in your sleep.” The young man stretched his bones, feeling the lightest cramp twinging in his legs.

“Umm just tired.” He responded, preparing to fall back to sleep.

“John, you would tell me the truth, wouldn’t you, especially if it kept Arthur safe?” John’s eyes widened, his lies not convincing for the shrewd man who’d studied them since childhood.

“It’s my fault” John quivered turning to his father for comfort. “Don’t blame Arthur.”

“My boy, I am proud of him and scared for him.” Hosea cradled his head against his chest.

“He’s gone away until the heat dies down. He in Lemoyne, somewhere near Rhodes.” John revealed.

“That’s good to know, at least he is safe.” Hosea kissed his head, tenderly. “Do you want to talk about it?” John shook his head, conflicted, the worst experience of his life, one that made his skin crawl was also the best, thanks to Arthur. He couldn’t reveal the horrors without the pleasures. While he loved his father, he knew that his and Arthur’s relationship would not be something he would keep from Dutch. Secrets were only kept if they caused no harm to the gang, this would be deemed potentially harmful. He rose early having slept for almost twenty-four hours, he crept to Arthur’s cot locating his stash of dollars. He wanted to get his watch fixed, the purest thing he owned, could not be broken. Retrieving his cleaned clothes from the kitchen, he dressed quickly, leaving quietly as the gang remained in their slumber. Dawn felt empty without him, the same vibrant colours that ignited his blood yesterday were now dull and lacklustre. Their spirit deadened without his presence, he pined, craving his closeness and comfort, his mind flashed with horrors, _ what if he didn’t get out of the city _ ? _ Apprehended awaiting the gallows in prison and they didn’t know _? He wandered through the streets to the station, hoping he could find out more without raising suspicion. Luckily this time of the day on a skeleton crew was crewing the central station. He offered a smoke to an exhausted officer, eliciting enough to know that no one had been caught and they didn’t have the slightest clue. Bizarrely swaying more to the belief that he was an Angel sent from God, as though old testament judgment was back in fashion.

John meandered around the streets, his shadow leading him astray as he searched for some purpose. The confirmation that Arthur was probably safe did not alleviate his sense of loss. He located the Jewellers but found it did not open for another few hours, he continued to wander like a lost puppy. Walking through the park, a scent captured his imagination, perhaps this was the day to start his education in horticulture. He could impress Arthur next time they meet. He picked a few stems, one purple, one red, they looked different but other than that he couldn’t say what they were. P_ robably weeds, _he thought deflated, as he continued on his pointless amble. His fluid gait stopped rigid when he found himself where he really wanted to be, the old church on Gasper street in St Francis. The whitewashed wooden structure leant as though ready to fall, its bell tower buckling under its age. It required love but aren’t all good things in this world of hardship.

“Hello sir, can I help you?” A woman, younger than Grimshaw but not by much approached him. Her habit framing her kind and inviting face. John did not know what to say, unsure why his itinerant feet led him there.

“I…. I um, no sorry, its nothing to worry about.” John tried to take his leave, but the Nun wrapped her slender fingers around his arm, securing him in place.

“Now come, young man, something compelled you to arrive outside our fine church at such an early hour.” Her warm smile was comforting, familiar, as though she’d always been there with a kind word and gentle gesture.

“Well Mam, I suppose, I heard about the incident at the Laundry…. I know a little of the hardship of the streets myself and just wanted to see that the children were safe and well.” John almost collapsed under the weight of his words, potentially the most considered sentence he’d spoken in his whole life. This woman drove an honesty in him, it scared him slightly.

“Why Sir, that is a kind sentiment to be thinking of others, especially so early in the morning…can I ask your name?” Her eyes flickered with compassion.

“It’s John…John Marston.” He couldn’t lie.

“Well Mr Marston, the babes sleep, but you are welcome to stay, the brothers and I could use a strong man such as yourself to corral them youngsters when they wake.” She squeezed his arm lightly. John remained most of the morning, his heart was relieved to find twelve happy if not undernourished children. Their faces scrubbed clean by the sisters didn’t lift the brown colour from their cheeks, the dirt was stitched into their skin. Through the darkness, their eyes shone brightly, their natural shyness toward him melted as he invented fun games to play with them. The Sisters and Brothers grateful they had a distraction to go about their chores. John pretended to be Jezebel, giving each a ride around the courtyard, _ if the gang could see him _.

“Come on little one it’s your turn?” John enthusiastically approached a young girl, her long white hair stuck to her rosy cheeks, her eyes a stunning ocean blue, _ like Arthur’s. _ She repelled his advances, cowering behind the Nun’s figure, fingers tenderly grabbing hold of the fabric for dear life.

“Oh, not to worry Mr Marston, little Rose here is painfully shy.” John studied the Sisters expression, gleaming that Rose was probably more traumatised than the others. He wanted to empathise but knew his own experiences didn’t manifest themselves in outward shyness, they crept up on his subconscious. “Rose, that is a pretty name.” kneeling down to her level, catching her suspicious eyes that remained fixed on him. “Here Rose” he reached into his satchel and pulled out the flower he’d picked moments early, a red carnation, not that he knew. Boldly he leant forward, running a finger through her wiry hair to tuck it behind her ear. Slipping the carnation aloft her ear, she pouted at his touch but remained steadfast in her place. “A pretty flower, for a pretty flower.” He said, smiling before standing back up. 

“What do you say to Mr Marston, Rose?” The girl’s eyes shot up to her protector, perplexed that any words needed to be said but conceded her manners were there somewhere.

“Thank you, Mr Marston.” Her faint soft voice melted him, she relinquished her hold on the Sister and collapsed her arms around his skinny legs, it was unexpected, John unsure what to do. Thankfully the girl crushed back into her painful shyness and ran away.

“I think she likes you?” The Sister said as she watched her retreat into the safety of the church,

“What will happen to them, Sister?” John asked, sincerely. 

“Well most will go to the orphanage, the robust ones, we hope they will be homed if possible, some will no doubt find themselves back on the streets,” John smirked,

“I assume you know that well, Mr Marston?” he nodded, “No orphanage could ever hold me in, Sister.” 

“A few will remain with us for the time being, the quiet ones, our good friend, the Doctor, is monitoring them. They have damage physical and mental that requires greater care than the orphanage can offer.” She sighed, “Such pain man inflicts on man, not even children are safe.” Her sombre tone struck a chord in his heart.

“Sister its not much” he reached into his pocket and pulled out the clip of notes he retrieved from Arthur’s cot. There was no doubt in his mind that the older man would want it donated to the children, over the need to fix his watch, seeing as it was their idiocy that broke it. “Why Mr Marston that is a very generous gesture, thank you.” He relinquished the notes, tipped his hat and waved to the children who were chasing a stick pretending it was a dog.

“Please come back anytime Mr Marston you are more than welcome.” He nodded his gratitude to the offer and retreated into the bustle of the Mid-day City.


	25. Jezebel

Most of the gang were up and out which he was grateful for, he wanted space and time to write to Arthur to inform him of the goings-on in St Denis. Hosea had taught him before about using pseudonyms and fake backstories in case the post was being read, but he was not a natural at it.

_Dear Brother Tacitus, _

_I hope this finds you well, _ ** _ (Let me know you are alive!) _ **

_It has been a mighty warm Summer in St Denis, and the oppressive heat does not appear to be dying down any. _ ** _ (The law is still looking for the perpetrator, not safe to return) _ **

_We have experienced the most horrendous event recently; I have enclosed a paper cutting to inform you. The law enforcement agents do not know who committed such acts and witnesses believe it was an Angel from Heaven sent to slay those who Sin. _ ** _ (Another article to add to your collection, although you can’t claim this one, Angel’s did it.) _ **

_It is an unseemly business and one I am glad you were not here to witness. Father’s Doctor confirmed that the children have been found safe and are in a small church kept by Nuns. _ ** _ (Doctor told gang, but kids are safe) _ **

_I have yet to get the watch father got me fixed, having saved a substantial sum, I decided to donate it to the poor children involved. As their poor souls require sustenance more than I need the time. _ ** _ (Hope you don’t mind?) _ **

_I may wish to visit soon, if there is no relief, as I am sure the open countryside of Rhodes makes for an enjoyable ride. _ ** _ (Don’t make me wait too long, I need to ride my cowboy.) _ **

_Love _ ** _ (Love) _ **

_Jezebel Milton _ ** _ (John Marston) _ **

He folded the paper neatly into thirds, planting a kiss on it before concealing it in an envelope. He arrived at the station in time for the last post, glad as he watched the stagecoach pull away. John began his vigil, arriving at the station the next day, awaiting the arrival of the post. He knew it was ridiculous, his own letter probably hadn’t even come in Rhodes, let alone collected, read and responded to. Days turned into a week and then almost two, he was distraught, despondent and crazed with worry. A few times he considered jumping on the train to go and find Arthur, but where would he start. Lemoyne was a big state, with some questionable characters that even John would prefer not to meet.

On the second week, he took to his bed, morose and pining. Susan took pity on him for once, sensing something was brooding deep within him. He was safer in bed than stalking the streets, especially when Arthur was not around to keep an eye. The rest of the gang gave him space, John’s episodes were sporadic, but when they were triggered, they were all-encompassing, consuming the boy. Too much of his life before the gang was shrouded in darkness that they didn’t feel informed enough to offer meaningful comfort. All except Hosea, whose own convalescence limiting his movements was glad of the company, even if it was the deaf and mute John.

“Are you missing Arthur, John?” Hosea asked one evening as he attempted to force-feed the boy some broth. 

“I am sure he is fine; he will be lost tracking some game through the heartlands having the time of his life.” The statement didn’t provide much comfort. _ What if he is not okay? And if he is fine, that means he doesn’t care enough to get in contact? _The overwhelming image that consumed John’s thoughts was Arthur’s body rotting in a ditch, it was too much.

“We’ve got post!” Grimshaw hollered from the kitchen, for the first time in a week John leapt from the confines of his bed, almost knocking the older man from his perch.

“J. Milton, assume that’s you John.” Susan nodded towards the table, his eyes followed her direction but found it bare. The only letter in the vicinity rested in their leaders’ hands. He gulped, hoping Arthur had not revealed anything too forward in his words.

“Must be from Arthur.” Dutch tore the envelope, unravelling the delicate sheets of paper torn from Arthurs journal.

“Read it then Dutch, we are all worried about the boy,” Hosea commanded from the doorway. John rested on a chair, his legs shaking with anticipation. A bitter scowl on his face, the letter was addressed to him.

_My Dearest Jezebel. _

_I was surprised to get your letter so soon after the last. _ ( ** _ You only waited a day to write me you moron, of course, there is still heat from the law.) _ **

_It is mighty sad news to hear about the goings-on in St Denis and the cruelty those poor children faced. _ ** _ (Glad the Kids are safe) _ ** _ Although I cannot think of any crueller act that man calling his children Tacitus and Jezebel _ ** _ (Jezebel, you used your horse as a pseudonym) _ **

_I am currently ingratiating myself with the locals in this fine town of Rhodes, some are more forthcoming than others, but they are all welcoming. I am sure their warmness will be extended to yourself, my fine younger sister. _ ** _ (I have some good leads, not the smartest bunch, could do with your help.) _ **

_It is a shame about the watch father gave you still being broken, there is a decent jeweller outside of Rhodes who might be able to fix it. _ ** _ (Fence up the road might be able to fix it, will be cheaper, after your generous charitable donation with my money.) _ **

_If you would care to join me, I can show you some beautiful locations to ride, although I must warn you, it’s a much hardier pursuit, more than what you are currently used. _ ** _ (Don’t push me, boy, unless you are ready. I ain’t Beth’s object, you ride me, and you will know about it.) _ **

_Love to Father, Uncles and Aunt. _

_Tacitus. _

John blushed furiously at the thought of Arthur’s hardier pursuits. He’d hoped the inference went unnoticed, dismissed as padding and dribble to the real request in the letter, which was some support with he newly found leads.

“Well seems he’s been busy.” Dutch threw the letter onto the table. John sat on his hands, wanting to retrieve it for safekeeping but couldn’t arouse suspicion. To the rest of the gang, he and Arthur were still cool after their last fight, he needed to keep up appearances.

“We could all go, I could do with a few days out of this city, potentially scout for a new location to camp.” Dutch was in the process of proclaiming his plan. John’s muscles spasmed, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Dutch, Arthur didn’t ask for you, can’t risk us turning up mob-handed and scaring off his leads,” Hosea interjected. It used to be that Dutch, Hosea and Arthur had an equal share in all the decisions that impacted the gang, as the founding members. Of late Dutch took a more dictatorial role. With Arthur’s prorogued absences and Hosea’s illness, it went unchallenged. With Hosea’s strength returning by the day, his voice was becoming more vocal, John smiled.

“Send the boy, he can report back and then we will see if it is worthwhile going.” Hosea placed a hand on John’s shoulder in knowing reassurance. Dutch’s crushing stare moved from the older man to the younger, it was not what he wanted but conceded it was the right thing.

“Fair enough, get your stuff boy, we want you on the next train to Rhodes.” John leapt from his seat in anticipation, he was going to see Arthur. Packing his meagre possessions, in the room he shared with Sean, Javier and Arthur. He was overwrought with excitement, this was potentially it, he was finally going to ride his cowboy. The latch of the door locked behind him; a shot went down his spine. He turned expecting to see the looming spectre of Dutch, determined to rile him before his departure, payback for his insubordination.

“Hosea, you made me jump?” He said relieved.

“Your body is reacting to all sorts of things at the moment like you have lice or a tick.” The older man observed. John laughed nervously, unaware he was that readable.

“John.” Hosea touched his shoulder, calming both of them. “Whatever is going on between the pair of you, promise me you keep it away from the gang?” John was about to protest, to lie, but it was no point with Hosea. He nodded, catching his father’s eyes, the concern was real, he knew.


	26. 4:45 to Rhodes

The steam engine arrived in Rhodes at 4:45 pm, the intense heat of the day was subsiding, John's skin glowed from the heat and his nerves getting the better of him. He put on his best rancher denims, matching black, with the cattleman hat Arthur had gifted him several years prior. He wanted to look his best for his cowboy. He stopped by the barbers in St Denis getting his hair chopped, it matured him. He managed to grow a bit of stubble, barely noticeable but he protested when the barber tried to shave him.

He arrived in the station house; it was dim in the shade, dust danced around the streams of light that penetrated through the window. The same light guided him across the near empty hall to a familiar shape, one he knew better that his own face.

“Arthur" he called over, his voice betraying his excitement. The older man’s hips shifted casually; his gambler concealing his eyes, his stoic lips didn’t move in recognition.

“John" his stance aloof, he tipped his hat towards the door. His drawl was noticeably flat as though meeting an acquaintance, certainly not his brother and definitely not his lover. The younger man followed him to the door, his nerves on edge,_ not again _he thought to himself. He couldn’t do this again, have Arthur completely closed to him. 

Jezebel and Boadicea nickered in acknowledgment of each other, resting their heads together. At least they were capable of warm greetings. They mounted in silence, steadily trotting out of the small town.

“Mr Morgan, Arthur!” a shrill voice called over from the general store.

“Why hey there Mary-Beth, how are you?” Arthur's eyes warmed instantly at her presence; John noticed.

“Glad to have caught you, I have finished another chapter and was hoping you would read it.” She smiled, revealing her youth, her freckled face, hair mousey, made her cute.

“Mary-Beth, this is my brother John, he is in town for a few days.” She reached her hand out to shake the youngers man’s, it was loosely received.

“Let me get him settled and I will happily come and read it.” She nodded her appreciation, he tipped his hat and smiled.

They continued out of Rhodes, towards the heartlands. John was incensed, getting nothing but distance whilst Mary-Beth received his full attention.

“What was that?” his tone accusatory.

“What?” Arthur, as usual, unsure of what he was being asked to clarify.

“That, you and Mary-Beth?” John probed, determined something was going on between the two.

“She’s a good girl, been helping me with some marks in town and we bonded over writing.” Arthur spoke plainly unaware of John’s growing suspicions.

“You let her read your journal?” he spat with venom, that was a luxury he never received.

“No, why are you jealous? Little Jonny Marston jealous of a girl?” Arthur couldn’t help but mock him when he was being so stupid.

“Besides she’s only seventeen, a bit young for me.” Arthur chuckled, which incensed him more.

“From what I remember I was younger when you first kissed me.” The words were barbed intended to hurt. Arthur shot him a glance of utter disgust, concealing the crushing hurt in his heart.

“That was different and you know it!” This is not how he planned the day to go but then there was no use in making plans when the wolf was consuming John.

They continued in silence for another half an hour, arriving at a small tucked away shack, on a hill surrounded by tall trees. It was just the sort of seclusion they needed to raise hell with each other.

They placed the horses in an enclosed paddock at the side. Providing them with water and hay before the bubbling animosity resurfaced.

“That opium you been smoking has clearly addled your brain, not that you had one to start with.” Arthur’s drawl was cutting, his grey eyes stared down the younger man, furious that their romantic interlude started with an argument, although this was John _bloody_ Marston, _what did he expect?_

“I spent the last two weeks thinking you were dead in a ditch, now I find you been cosying up with Mary-Beth, she feed your appetites adequately?” John braced himself, expecting Arthur to punch him for his petulance.

Nothing. John studied his brother who was stood still, breathing in a fashion that was odd to witness “Are you counting to ten!” he shouted when he realised. Arthur had always taught him when something hurt or someone was being an asshole, count to ten.

“Yes and be grateful I am because every muscle in my body wants to hit you right now,” John rolled his eyes, he wanted Arthur to hit him, the older man always felt guilty afterwards and it made John feel less like an asshole, they could both be assholes together.

His guilt started to gnaw at him, Arthur hadn't really done anything wrong, keeping up appearances in town. Was this him now, an uncontrollable screaming banshee who couldn’t stand anyone speaking to his man, _was Arthur still his man after his little outburst?_

John huffed, kicking the dust. Arthur recognised the wolf being caged, the doe displaying remorse. He lost control of his emotions for no sound reason and was regretting it, he walked towards the cabin hoping to find a moment of solitude where he could sheath his feelings or at least try to understand them.

“Where you going?” Arthur growled.

“To put my stuff in the cabin.” John responded a little too casually considering they were in the middle of an argument.

“No, you don’t” Arthur raced towards him, his imposing mass completely enveloping him. He flinched at his touch as he felt himself being picked up from the ground like a bale of hay. He closed his eyes preparing himself for the usual introduction with the ground when their fights turned physical.

It didn’t arrive, with trepidation he opened his left eye, just a crack, expecting to see the murderous grey eyes staring back at him. Instead, Arthur was carrying him like a bride over the threshold of the cabin. 

“I have put too much effort into this place for you to storm in angry and not notice.” His droll twang was soft. John smirked; Arthur knew him so well.

He carried his lover over the rickety threshold, it wasn’t much to look at on the outside but inside Arthur had been busy. Opening the door, John’s eyes were blown. There was a fire place, its mantle holding Arthur’s treasured photos. John hadn’t realised they were not back in St Denis, the space they shared was limited so everything other than cots and clothes were still boxed. Beneath the fire place, his treasured furs were layered, _they__ would come in handy later_. A kitchen table was laid with crockery and silverware, _very sophisticated_. A bouquet of flowers sat proudly in the middle, it felt like a home, their home.

Arthur placed him on a seat at the kitchen table, from a bucket he pulled two beers, presenting one to John who gladly accepted.

“We need to talk.” Arthur stated with authority, John gulped, was this it, letting him down gently. In fairness he had just suggested Arthur was a pervert, _wouldn’t surprise him if he did end it._

“Don't look so concerned John, it’s nothing bad.” Arthur’s warmth radiated from him putting the younger man at ease.

“What do you want to talk about?” John took a swig from his beer, scanning the room to avoid eye contact.

“I want to understand what you are? I mean...does _this_ mean you're …you know?” Arthur gesticulated awfully but John knew what he was trying to ask

“I don’t know Arthur; I have only ever been with a woman but in the same breath I have also never been with a woman in the traditional sense.” John swayed uncomfortably, he’d never been sure himself and no amount of council or talking ever seemed to provide any clarity. 

“Does what I am need a label?” Arthur shifted in his chair, having never thought of it in those terms, he was impressed by the boy's candour and openness but also intelligence towards the matter. He let out a breathless chuckle, who would ever try and label John as anything, he changed with the wind, led by his heart and his stomach, unconventional, uncontrollable and hopefully after tonight he would be all his.

“Well what about you, are you …you know.... _that_ way inclined.” John was just as intrigued by Arthur’s labels.

“No, what makes you say that?” John’s brow furrowed with confusion, not the response he was expecting

“Well you know about the spot in a man. You knew what was happening in the Opium den when you came to save me. And much against everyone's opinion of me, I am a man and you made this man come twice.” John smiled at the last words.

Arthur chuckled, “Do you ever forget anything?”

“No, I learnt long ago to log everything you said because you would deny ever saying it,” John was proud of that, proud he could penetrate Arthur’s defences. He had the key to breaking down the Pandora’s box that was Arthur Morgan.

“I may have dabbled once or twice but it wasn’t something I ever enjoyed or even wanted.” Arthur matched the boy's candour. John visibly deflated, this was a level of honesty he wasn’t expecting, unsure what it meant for them. Was John a dirty secret, to be enjoyed only when Arthur lost control and needed to regain his dominance over him

“You weren’t forced?” John felt it appropriate to clarify.

“No, I wasn’t forced. Although I am sure that has happened a few times on my travels. Luckily, the bastards knocked me out hard enough and were gone before I woke up or there would be some eunuchs walking around.” John’s stomach twisted at the revelation, and the casual way he explained it. If any of that happened to John, Arthur would howl like a wounded animal before hunting down the perpetrators. For himself, he made it sound as though falling over drunk was a greater hardship. He could feel his face twist with an indirect anger directed towards the unknown monsters who hurt his cowboy.

“It's ok John, I am a big boy and can take care of myself.” Arthur rose from his chair, placed his hand firmly on the younger man’s cheek. 

“Least you know why I am so protective over you, especially when you almost get yourself raped by St Denis socialites with syphilis.” John melted into the touch, his smile crooked, he was empathising with Arthur, a rather strange emotion. This bubbling tense feeling in his stomach, the overwhelming need to wrap him in blankets and tell him he is safe. That is what Arthur feels every time he does something stupid or moronic. No wonder he hits him so much, in that moment he wanted to hit himself.

Arthur retrieved more beers, they wittered on for a few hours, telling each other what had been going on in their absences. John washed over the crippling depression and anxieties, not wanting to appear weak to his partner. Arthur became louder, his words less sensitive and considered, always the same when he got drunk.

“So, are you still a virgin?” He asked with all the subtlety of a whore drumming up business.

“I am unsure what the dictionary definition is but I suppose I am. Can’t really lose your virginity to an object.” John chuckled, his smile alluring as he took another sip of his beer.

“You mean to tell me I spent the last three years riding through multiple states, in all sorts of weather conditions for you not to lose your virginity?” His crooked smile grew wider, he’d never thought of it like that, making poor Arthur part of the charade.

“Well when you put it like that,” Arthur laughed, his rolling belly laugh, it was gravelly and sensual. His eyes rolled deep blue, like the sea after a storm. John’s throat tightened; his heart felt constricted.

“I am glad I am still a virgin" John announced, fixing his eyes firmly on Arthur’s. “There has only ever been one person I want to take my virginity. Since I was 15, you have been all I ever wanted.” Arthur stopped laughing, a sudden rush of blood mingling with the alcohol made him dizzy. He rose from the chair, turning away from the boy unable to keep contact, the younger man was silent. Arthur conceded it shouldn’t be a such surprise, he knew the way they felt about each other, especially back then. Perhaps the intensity of his words _all I ever wanted_, not Beth, not women, not men, just him. It was unexpected but certainly not unwelcome, it just swiped his legs from under him, as John’s announcements always did.

John needed Arthur to know, know the full truth no matter how embarrassing it was. “Beth used to pretend to be you when we were in bed together. I haven’t come once in the last four years without your name leaving my lips.” He hung his head, partly through embarrassment, partly relief. Arthur’s jaw was on the floor, unable to speak words to the revelation. Beth wasn’t his competition, she imitated him, to get John off because Arthur was all John ever wanted. If he was alone, he would collapse on the floor like a stunned animal. He was terrified, the totality of his sentiment, _how could he be so dense not to see it_? _How did John keep it a secret?_ _Everyone who loved him died_, he shook the thought.

Arthur extended his hand out to John, the younger man was hesitant, still rattled that his declaration appeared to go down like cold sick.

“I haven't shown you the best bit of the cabin.” John took his hand, his fingers locked into Arthur’s, like lovers walking in the park. He was led through the kitchen, and into a side room. The room was bare and plain except for a large wooden double bed, freshly made with cotton sheets. 

“The way I see it, 20-year-old virgins are a bit peculiar, the type of dames that get left on the shelf and end up having to look after their daddies.” Arthur chuckled.

“I am nineteen!” he protested.

“Then there is still time to save you boy.” Arthur rested his chin on the younger’s shoulders, wrapped his thick arms around his tiny waste. John’s breath hitched, he walked into that one.


	27. Prelude to a dream

Arthur ghosted his lips along John’s, pulling him closer with one hand while he caressed his cheek with the other. It was intimate, his lashes fluttered as his lids rolled shut. He pushed deeper, his mouth softly massaging those cupid bow lips. John was paralysed, it was different from their other kisses. Not as intense or rough but it was just as special, a heady intoxication, the type that made his heart skip in his chest,_ was this love _ _ ? _Arthur’s stubble itched along his chin, making his lip burn. For the first time, it was John’s tongue that penetrated, trying to lead the way, emboldened by the tenderness being displayed by his lover. 

They languidly rolled their tongues together, as though time had slowed, every movement could be felt in intricate detail, seconds felt like hours as the intimately re-acquainted their bodies. John groaned wantonly, causing a raised brow and a quick swipe of the younger mans denim trousers, _ just _ _ checking _ Arthur smirked. He raised his hands, cupping Johns face needing to frame his beauty in the moment as they plunged deeper into the kiss. John inhaled Arthur’s rich aroma, saddle oil, pine, cigarettes and beer. It was never offensive or sour, as though by virtue of being Arthur’s it was fragrant and welcoming, could be bottled and sold in the Parisian fashion houses. Arthur broke the kiss, trying with limited dexterity, hands shaking in anticipation, to unbutton the younger man’s shirt. 

John was having none of it, he couldn’t countenance the most romantic experience of his life ever ending. He pushed Arthur’s hands away, training them to rest on his hips as he pushed forwards again, their lips meeting softly, the saliva exchanged making them softer still. Feeling bold he placed his hand on Arthur’s neck, using the compliance to hold him in place as he slipped his tongue in again, this time fireworks exploded as for the first time he was in control, leading, driving them closer and closer to the point of ecstasy. He felt the drum beat of his heart speeding up and he melted further into the kiss. 

“John” Arthur was barely audible through the tongues and teeth. 

“John” his eyes rolled to the heavens, pleading patience, all he received was a moan of acknowledgment as John continued to kiss him. 

He used his superior strength to pull them apart. “John! I want to have sex with you tonight but that is very hard when we are both fully clothed.” 

“Sorry Arthur.” John said before returning to his sensual kiss. Arthur mentally huffed as they locked lips again. He eventually unbuttoned John’s shirt, rolling it off his shoulders. His tolerance waned, he lifted him up, legs wrapping around this torso, he maintained the kiss, clearly what John needed, as they crossed the room to the bed. It was a very good kiss; one Arthur didn’t want to break but was worried he would do a John if it continued. He chuckled, _ what do you call doing a John Marston, ejaculating in your pants after one kiss _

He manoeuvred them towards the bed, releasing the support of his toned arms from under John’s legs, expecting him to fall. He remained steadfastly stuck to him, like a baby Koala Bear holding on to its mother, his lips still locked in sweet ecstasy. Arthur was bemused,_ if he stood here and did nothing how long would it be before John noticed _ _ ? _ He wasn’t patient enough to find out, he rolled them delicately onto the bed, placing John’s head on the pillows. Pulling his arms above his head, ensuring the kiss was not broken. Arthur ever adept at binding bounties made quick work of tying John’s wrists together around the bedpost, with his bandanna. 

“Ha, there we go” He rejoiced with glee as he freely moved away from his all-consuming lover. 

“Arthur that’s not fair,” John whined in protest, his lips felt exposed and lonely, missing the heat of the man. He tried to loosen his bound wrists knowing it to be folly, Arthur was a pro. 

“Its only for five minutes whilst I undress us” he retorted. 

“Kinky bastard” John released a wicked smile, he liked Arthur’s commanding nature in the bedroom. 

“I don’t know why but, in my head, when I finally took you as my lover, I always imagined you would be less annoying.” Arthur’s droll tone playfully provoking the younger man. “Now we are here, I don’t know why I ever thought that, you’ve annoyed me every day since the first day we met.” Arthur chuckled at the revelation. 

“You been thinking of taking me as your lover for long?” John was being deliberately provocative, knowing the older mans desires started before they were appropriate. John kicked out frustrated by the lack of contact. He didn’t care that he was annoying as long as he was sat in his cowboy's lap. 

“Don’t worry I am still going to ruin you, I have my reputation to uphold, need to make sure I am better than that imitation Arthur Morgan you have been sleeping with.” John rolled his hips in anticipation, unable to distinguish if the words should be taken as a promise or a threat. He wanted to be ruined, his sated boneless body draped across Arthur’s muscular toned torso. There was no doubt the real thing beat the imitation any day. 

“Arthur you tied me up because I wouldn’t stop kissing you and you couldn’t get us naked, but now you won't shut up and your still fully clothed.” John observed under his tortuous restraints. 

“Smartass” Arthur retorted, kicking off his boots. 


	28. One Night in a Small Cabin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previous chapter was really short, this one is a bit longer

He slowly unzipped his captive's pants, painfully slow, he knew it was torturous but a life time of experience told him to savour every last second. 

John was going to submit part of himself that no one else had the pleasure of experiencing, he respected that. Not that he wasn’t going to destroy the boy, drive him to every edge possible, fulfil every mind-bending fantasy, and give him more to think about but that all took time and careful considered calculation. 

He pulled at his pants, John lifting his hips to hasten their removal. His long drawers followed just as quickly. Leaving the boy entirely naked, wrists still bound tightly to the bed. He studied every nick and scar that adorned the young man’s body. Most he'd bore witness to their creation; some were at his own hand and others he didn’t have clue. He wanted to know the stories behind them but this was not the time. 

Arthur didn’t get a chance to worship his body in St Denis. Bound by a desperate need to be in control and to provide John with relief he was craving. Whilst he successfully delivered for both of them, it was over far too soon and not the way he usually liked to conduct proceedings. 

Arthur lapped up the whole sight of John, the part he worshipped most was the muscular V of his torso. When it started to develop, Arthur always found himself stealing glimpses, staring too long. The way his pants always hung slightly below his hips; it was like a little suggestive arrow pointing him to the promised land. Now, his sharp hips punctuated the V, his toned muscles leading down to his stiffening manhood. His mouth twitched as he imagined planting kisses, licks and bites all over his favourite area, but that was jumping the gun. 

He finally unbuttonined his own shirt, revealing his large imposing pecks feathered lightly with hair. His torso was hard working, not defined but still buff. His thickness gave him dominance over the boy, his body large enough to consume his skinny frame twice over. He rolled forward, gently bucking his clothed erection against John’s naked one, the boy gasped with excitement, feeling as though an eternity had passed since they last touched each other. 

He chuckled sardonically, the younger man’s desperation brought out his darker side, he embraced the feeling of power, wanting to focus it on giving then both an intense feeling of satisfaction. 

“Tell me what you want?” his husky voice was hot against John's neck, he nibbled at his lobe, tracing kisses down his jawline as he waited for a response. 

“I want you inside me.” John fired back, a little too quick for Arthur’s liking. He shuffled onto his elbows, his gaze trapping the boy in his place. 

“Really? That’s it, almost four years of dreaming and all you want is for me to be inside you.” John’s brow furrowed, that’s was more than enough, that was everything to him. 

“What do you want? He rebuked, intrigued to what Arthur wanted that was so different. 

“To begin with, I want to bruise your hips with my mouth, lick my tongue in the grove of your muscled torso.” Arthur used his finger seductively to confirm each area he was talking about. "I want to feel your hard cock pulsating in the back of my throat, taste your come as it fills my mouth.” He grinned as he said it, knowing it would embarrass the boy to hear such words. 

“Arthur!” John whined, intense heat filling his cheeks, covering his face with suspended forearm to hide his blush. 

“What? Don’t say its embarrassing John, we can’t do this if you are going to shrivel up.” Arthur kissed him earnestly on the lips. “I want to hear you, moans, screams, I want to know what that mind is thinking as I take your virginity?” 

John blinked, lashes fluttering, he wasn’t good with words but if that is what Arthur wanted, he was willing to try. He shuffled under the large man; his body pinned but his legs were still free. He wrapped them around his cowboy’s torso, squeezing him tight, bucking their throbbing members together. 

“I want you to mould my ass around your thick cock so we fit together forever.” John bit his lip, nervous hoping it was right. Arthur was stunned into silence; he continued to plant languid kisses on his lovers body concealing his own blush. His words were the most bizarrely romantic thing anyone had ever said to him. He buckled unable to proceed with his plan of restrained torturous love making, John needed to be his. 

He pulled the constraints from his wrists, flipping him over, his skinny naked frame sat breathless in his lap. Their lips clashed with a forceful intensity, swelling instantly under the growing pressure, there was no room for tongue’s as the power struggle ensued. 

Arthur’s hands punctured his hips, forcing him to grind down hard on his clothed member, he chastised himself for leaving the damn things on. John ripped his nails up and down his back, fighting like an alley cat, trying desperately to have some control, at least over his own body, if not Arthur’s. 

They needed to slow down, to get his denims off but the loss of momentum would end them both. He bit at John’s bottom lip, the slightest nip, eliciting a yelp. He licked the offended area, before pushing his tongue into his warm moist orifice, finding John’s tongue poised, ready to pounce. The wetness of their saliva mingling together, their noses pushed together, inhaling the scent of their growing sexual aromas. Arthur’s body tingled with anticipation, to finally have him all to himself, submitting to his touch, his demands, he groaned at the thought. 

“I want you boy, want all of you.” He kissed along his neck, his thumb gently rubbing his left nipple feeling it harden instantly. John was lost in a wave of bliss, his body responding uncontrollably to every touch and word. So lost he almost forgot the act of penetration he desired so deeply. Arthur didn’t need to put his cock in him to drive him wild with pleasure. 

“I need you Arthur” John whispered, his hand migrating down caressing the thick bulge in the older mans pants. 

Arthur broke contact, acknowledging that if they left it any longer, they would both come without penetration. Whilst the electricity between them allowed it to happen, that touch alone could bring such an intense release in each other. He'd waited long enough to feel John’s ass tighten around his thick cock, he wasn’t going to risk losing control. 

He pulled John off his lap, placing him delicately onto the bed. The boy shuffled into position as Arthur unbuttoned his denims and swiftly pulled them down. His member shot up to attention, finally released from its confines. 

An audible gasp left John’s lips, he was surprised at the length and girth, having only felt it under clothes. Its thick pulsating veins made it alluring and vicious at the same time. He blushed realising he was staring and slightly envious, _did Arthur think he was enough._

“John it’s ok, we dont have to do it if you dont feel comfortable.” John’s doe eyes froze, this is all he wanted. “I want to, just not sure how it’s going to fit.” 

Arthur chuckled warmly, it was the usual response he got when his lovers first gazed on his erect manhood. He wasn’t sure what the fuss was about, believing he was a reasonably sized average man. It didn’t help most of his lovers, other than whores who loved him, were inexperienced. He was practiced in getting them over their nerves towards his size, John would be no different. 

“Look at me boy, it will fit.” he reached for his satchel, pulling out a pot of jelly. “Did you use this stuff with Beth?” asking earnestly. John nodded, though Beth always applied it. 

“Do you want to put it on me?” The younger mans face was pensive, the thought of touching his penis almost threw him over the edge. He reached for the pot placing a few fingers in, the consistency was strange to touch but he remembered seeing Beth doing it, working it in her hands, warming it up so it would spread easier. 

He hesitated for a moment, having never willingly touched another man before, certainly not one this size. Arthur guiding his hand, placing it on his throbbing member, he helped him to slide up and down allowing the moistened texture to absorb. 

“Like that?” he asked innocently. Arthur nodded, getting lost in the sensation of being massaged. His pace picked up realising his cowboy was enjoying it and he was enjoying the thick pulsing member twitching under his caress. 

“Whoa there darling. Dont get carried away, as much as I would love to blow my spend over that pretty face of yours, I want it leaking out of your tight hole.” The heat rose in his cheeks again, he dreamed of these acts a thousand time over. But the confidence in which Arthur spoke about what he wanted sent shots of electricity across his body. He could feel the older mans dominance permeating through every pour, it was intimidating. 

“Now it’s your turn.” He pushed John effortlessly back onto the bed. 

“You ever touch yourself down there?” Arthur asked with a focused precision, as though a doctor preparing for a examination. He nodded bashfully, when Beth wasn’t near he would try anything to recreate the feeling. 

“Show me!" He manoeuvred into a more manageable position, his whole face now crimson red, as he pulled his legs up towards his chest, presenting himself to Arthur. Not exactly the most flattering position but he was compelled by the command. 

He slid his two lubricated fingers in with ease, pumping himself languidly, watching the older man’s gaze studying the movements, a hunger growing. 

“What do you think about when you touch yourself?” John licked his lips slowly, his lids rolled shut “You, I imagine its your fingers.” Arthur’s breath hitched, intoxicated by the image. Thinking of all the times he’d heard John over the years, pleasuring himself, he was the subject driving those sounds. 

Arthur ran lubricant through his fingers, its tacky substance melting from his heat. John was lost in his ministrations, working himself nicely. He padded his finger next to the sunken digits of John, lining himself up to run along side him. His long finger penetrating deep into his ass, gliding past the younger mans, heading straight for his spot. 

“Arthur" John gasped, the stretch burning. Arthur immediately began to rub, poke and stroke the area where he thought it was. Every gasp was studied until John cried out like a Wolf calling for its mate, he found the spot. 

“My good boy, taking three fingers. Can you take more?” Biting his lip with trepidation, he nodded bracing himself for further intrusion. It scared him how easily he submitted to Arthur, how every suggestion was agreed to but there was no other man in the world he trusted more. As the fourth finger seated itself, he felt too full, his ring tearing under the strain. His legs began shaking, his mind working hard to fight his body which was twitching to escape. 

“You're ok darling, a few more pumps and you will be flying.” Arthur hovered his body over John’s sensing he was struggling. It worried him, if this was uncomfortable, how was he going to take him. He feathered kisses along his chest, working his way up to his cheek. John’s face was creased with focus, his lids firmly shut. Arthur couldn’t break his concentration, understanding when the moment took, any sudden changes could break the momentum. 

He cooed gently into his ear, “Good boy" encouraging him to his climax “You are going to come for me?” He could feel the heat rolling from John. He decided the time was right, sitting up, placing John’s legs on his shoulder so he secured the best view. He lightly kissed along his ankles, as he grasped John’s penis for the first time, it was solid, ready to blow. He made sure to time the quickening thrusts of his fingers with the rhythmic shuffle of his wrist along his long member. John’s fingers retreated from himself, gripping tightly onto the sheets, as his body writhing in anticipation. 

His body tensed, a strangled gasp filled the air, his lids shot open, pupils dilated. The sound of his orgasm dissipated as he melted back into sheets, sinking through the floor and into the earth. 

“Take me now Arthur, I am ready.” John whispered breathlessly, his boneless body submitting to all Arthur had to give. 

Arthur didn’t need telling twice, his own erection was leaking from the pressure of watching his partner come undone. He massaged another layer of lube into his throbbing member, wanting to make it as comfortable as possible, concerned it would be a strain the younger had never experienced before. John's boneless body would be more compliant to the pressure of his full girth seated in him but he still needed to be slow and tender. The feeling will be different, less flexible, rougher than anything he'd experience before. Arthur still had his needs. 

He placed his forehead against the younger man’s, lining himself up out of instinct “John look at me” his lids fluttered open, still dazed from his orgasm. “I need to hear your voice, need to know you're ok?” John’s muscles spasmed with anticipation as he felt the tip of Arthur’s head against his hole, he gasped, gripping the older man's biceps, digging his nails deeper into his flesh as the older man inched in. 

Arthur’s breath hitched, not fully appreciating how tight John was going to be, it was an intense pressure constricting his manhood. He wanted to enjoy every minute of it as his overly engorged member ruined John’s tight virginal hole. He could feel John fighting against his own body which naturally wanted to expel the foreign object of Arthur’s cock. He growled as the growing pressure consumed them both, a war of attrition that Arthur was determined to win. 

Regaining control of his senses, Arthur kissed his forehead before studying John’s eyes for any sense that he was not comfortable. “You have to breath, John,” the younger man gasped, not realising he'd been holding it since the first inch. 

He relaxed into the feeling, the sensation was familiar and new all at the same time. He felt so full, Arthur’s length pinching at his insides, his ring burning from the assault, a tear rolled down his cheek. 

“We can stop?” Arthur’s face twitched with concern. John mused how handsome Arthur was this close to him, moulded from granite, every line furrowed in his brow made him even more gorgeous, created by his attentive nature, everyone else came first and his face was painted with that picture. 

John wanted to convince him it was ok, he was ok. The moment of discomfort, was mixed with an overpowering need to remember every second. This, his desire for four years was finally a truth neither could deny, it was overwhelming. 

“Move" John whispered against his ear, barely audible. 

Arthur twitched at the thought, setting his gaze firmly on John to monitor his reaction. His hips pulled back, a shallow movement barely registering. John didn’t move, didn’t squirm or react with any joy. Arthur tried again, this time pulling himself almost fully out and thrusting back in. He groaned at the pressure. John flinched, his sides pinched, its sharpness almost intolerable. He dug his nails deeper into Arthur’s biceps, who in return groaned like a lion. 

“Keep going" John said overcome, he knew it got better. Whist he never experienced such an extreme burning sensation with Beth he knew it would eventually give way to absolute bliss. Arthur took his lead from John, rolling his hips again, this time he didn’t pause, continuing a nice steady rhythm. 

John began to loosen, the penetration of his spot letting the warm sensation rise in his stomach. He realised how deeply his nails were dug into Arthur’s arms, the older man hadn’t even acknowledged that it was causing him pain. 

He led motionless as Arthur rode his frame, his mind floated imagining what his body looked like from above, every muscle taut and flexing to penetrate him deeper and harder. He felt compelled to know, how every muscle, joint and bone moved to drive into him. 

“Arthur, Arthur I need a mirror.” The request flummoxed the outlaw. His pace slowing as he tried to fathom what he needed a mirror for. 

“I need a mirror on the ceiling, so I can watch you take me.” Arthur chuckled, John was finding his voice, typically there was no way of guessing what would pass his lips. 

“You can see with your touch, dont need a mirror.” John’s brow furrowed, unsure what he meant. 

Arthur took his hand, kissing the back delicately before guiding it down his back and to his firm taut ass. John rested his hands on his rump. Arthur began to speed up again. John caressed it, locating the dimples that sat on the side. Every thrust forward the muscle tensed, releasing again as it pulled back. John hummed in satisfaction, feeling the rise and fall from both sides. 

Arthur locked his fingers into John’s and pulled his hand forward, resting it between their bodies. Placing his palm on his hip, the rhythmic rolling almost broke him, he closed his eyes and lost himself in the movements. It felt so sensual, as it rolled in his hand, the cog to the piston that was relentlessly pumping into him. 

A trickle of sweat weaved between them, meandering around his fingers as he absorbed the warmth of Arthur’s skin. His body working so hard to satisfy John, his stamina was admirable not missing a beat. Arthur was a machine in the bedroom, typically motivated to giving his lover all the pleasure before considering taking any of his own. 

“See no need for a mirror.” John giggled in agreement; he was starting to fall again. 

The pleasure was growing, he began to remember himself, while they joked about his virginity, he didn’t lack experience. He hitched his legs over Arthur’s hips, providing a more direct angle for his spot to be pummelled. He bucked his knee against his tight muscular ass, commanding his stallion to ride harder, the motion didn’t go unnoticed. Arthur continued, his grunting becoming uneven. 

John locked his feet around the older man's torso, making a barrier. He tightened his grip, locking Arthur in and began to thrust. John’s participation drove Arthur wild, his movements becoming more forceful as he bucked with abandon into John. The ferocity of his movements flattening John, he screamed out in pure ecstasy as his body was pounded into the bed. 

His hand scraped along his back, around his biceps and into his hair. He needed an anchor, he was ready to cum again but wanted to hold on, to release the same time as Arthur. 

“Come inside me Arthur, I want every drop coating my walls.” John quivered in anticipation. 

“John!” He groaned, the words breaking him apart. 

Arthur gripped tightly to the headboard, needing a hardened surface to absorb his strength as he rolled heavily into the boy, every thrust was long, full and forceful, he groaned uncontrollably as, the bed rattled under the exertion. His body glowed with sweat, it lubricated every crease, making the slapping of their skin more audible. He prayed no one was passing by, there could be no doubt what was taking place. The only thing silent in whole cacophony was John, who having tried so hard to hold on to his orgasm, paid the price. The self-enforced delay, along with the growing power of Arthur’s thrusts, his engorged penis stretching to a level he thought impossible, experienced an explosive release, somersaulted him into his mindless boneless space. Too wrecked and weak to even participate in the final act where Arthur finally released himself fully into John. The older man collapsed on to the younger, their legs and arms entwined, twitching involuntarily, sweat began to pour as their sated and breathless bodies relaxed. Their minds no longer present, floating mesmerised in the heavenly bliss of their orgasms. 


	29. Best Person I know

John woke shivering, he hated being cold. He found Arthur’s usually warm presence, exposed and clammy, encasing his frame. They probably shouldn’t have slept straight away, cleaned up first and then gone to bed. Easier said than done. 

John smiled, his imagination could never have dreamt such a pummelling. He beamed with pride, aware he knew something about Arthur that very few had the privilege of knowing. The cold calculated outlaw, the warm hearted thoughtful gentleman, had a third side, untamed dominating beast in the bedroom. 

John chuckled, no wonder he struggled to maintain his relationships with women, other than whores who were practised and worn, what fragile woman had the constitution to withstand such force railing into them. 

John used his leanness to untangle himself from Arthur’s mass. He stood, an immense sharpness shot from his stomach and down his legs. His body was ruined, as Arthur promised it would be. He crept on his toes across the room and into the kitchen, his stomach guiding him, his body needing sustenance to replenish his energy and heat to warm his bones. 

He found wood and kindling by the fire, Arthur organised as ever, quickly building and lighting one. Unsure of the layout of the kitchen cupboards he tried each until he found a can of peaches, it would have to do. He took a knife from the table, folding his legs in front of the growing fire, placing one of the pelts across his shoulders. 

The crackle of the fire, the punctured sound of knife on tin were familiar, how they all lived. Doing it in a homestead was not. His single mindedness could not block out the twitching of his sore hole. A new base instinct to drive him, food, warmth, sex with Arthur. 

The sugary syrup of the canned peaches made his taste buds tingle, confirming how hungry he was. He barely chewed, just slurped and sucked trying to get every last bit of sugary sweetness. 

“You enjoying that?” Arthur’s husky voice called out of the darkness. He nodded, suddenly feeling coy in front of him as he confidently strutted naked into the room. 

“I can make you something a bit more substantial if you want?” he shook his head rejecting the offer, devouring another segment, he had other plans. 

Arthur joined him on the furs, his long naked body curved around John’s, encasing him in, reaching over and retrieving a segment for himself. They consumed the can quickly. Their sticky fingers unpleasant, Arthur sucked John's fingers clean of the sugary goodness. John blushed at the act, feeling consumed by the elder's erotic brashness. The growing heat of the fire relaxing his nerves from the presence of the other. 

Arthur wasn’t sure what had changed, Was he too rough? Too big? Was the boy hurting? He rubbed his large palm down John’s back, wanting contact to reassure himself it was still ok, his self-doubt creeping in. 

John leant into Arthur’s touch curling up into the crescent of his body, his eyes burned brightly as they watched the flames dance in the fire. The older man rested on his elbow, hovering above the boy so he could study his expression. He instinctively brushed his hair across his cheek, tucking it behind his ears. His face was serene, calm but his quietness filled Arthur with unease. 

Arthur caressed the back of neck, the massage usually saved for periods of stress, always elicited a moan of satisfaction from the younger. This time it didn’t even prompt a reaction. 

“You lost your voice?” Arthur finally challenged, unable to listen to the silence any more. 

“No Arthur, just thinking.” John said unable to make eye contact with the older man. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, it was always like pulling teeth when John’s mental cogs were grinding through a thought. 

“I know you are thinking, I can see the smoke coming out of your ears. It would be nice to know what your thinking about?” Arthur pushed him playfully trying to prompt a laugh or complaint, anything but silence. 

John rolled to face him, he gasped as a pain shot through his body. 

“Are you ok? Does it hurt?” John nodded as he propped himself up on his elbows. “A little.” Arthur face creased with distress, he couldn’t bare the thought of hurting the boy. John read it instantly. 

“You have punched me in the face too many times to be worried about hurting me during sex.” John chastised his concern. 

“I know but this is different.” He placed his hand on the boy's knee. John entwined their fingers, trying to reassure him. 

“Yes, when you punch me in the face you are trying to hurt me.” John chuckled, “What I am feeling is good pain, a pain I have wanted to feel for so long.” He kissed Arthur on lips, the residual peach juice making them tasty. 

“Still pain though" Arthur always had to have the last word. 

John was bold, Arthur had a tendency to dwell on these things, anything that confirmed he was a bad man that didn’t deserve love. He wasn’t about to lose him down that rabbit hole, not when they had countless days together alone, in their secluded log cabin. 

He pushed Arthur on his back, quickly straddling him. “I keep thinking my stallion isn’t as fit as he thinks his” John squeezed his knees against Arthur’s solid ass. Arthur sat up grabbing John’s ass in both of his hands, squeezing back. 

“I think you will find this stallion is more than fit enough.” John laughed enjoying Arthur’s participation. His deep blue eyes flashing with excitement. 

“Oh I dont know, you think you are out to stud, I think you are out to pasture, old man.” John thrust in his lap, feeling the growing member caressing his ass. “What if you can’t keep up with my demands, might have to get a replacement.” John’s smile was malevolent wanting to wind Arthur up. 

“You can have a replacement if you want, someone to keep you company whilst I mate with my fillies.” Arthur chortled, he was better at this than the boy. Remembering how ridiculously jealous John was over Mary-Beth 

“No!” He whined, “They wouldn’t get near, your new master will ride you long and hard, teaching you who's boss.” Arthur’s eyebrows rose suggestively, not realising that he had submitted to a new master. 

“Is that so? I think my new master will struggle, I am a bit wild and untamed, do you think he has the stamina?” John bit Arthur’s lip provocatively, his cock bobbing against his thigh. The jelly was in the other room but he felt confident he was still moist enough from earlier to seat Arthur. 

The pair moved in unison, Arthur lining his needy member against his lovers swollen hole. John raised his hips in preparation for the full length to penetrate him. 

His tightness eased quickly but the soreness was something he would have to live with grimacing over Arthur’s shoulder as he fully sheathed his member, not wanting the older outlaw to see his discomfort. 

He planted his hands firmly on Arthur’s shoulders for leverage as he began to roll his hips, riding the man languidly. Arthur rested his hands on his sharp hips feeling the rhythm but not forcing it. He wanted reassurance John was able to take him before he stared to set the pace. 

Their gaze would meet momentarily then disappear to some other place in the room. Face to face with the light of the fire felt too intimate and personal, their expressions visible to one another and there was not escape. A fierce blush washing over their faces as they caught glimpses of their contorted pleasured appearances as the pushed deeper and harder. 

Arthur's frown lines were deep when John tightened around him. John cupid bow lips would part as he gasped and then bite down as Arthur swelled and stretched him. It was a strangeness neither could deny, the familiarity of being brought up together at odds with the things they were now doing to each other. 

“I have wanted to ride you for so long.” John punctured the silence, compelled to admit his truths. His intention not to be provocative, it was a fact that John needed Arthur to know. The older man kissed his cheek, grateful for his candour. 

“I promise you this will only ever stop if you want it to.” Arthur bucked up, John gasped in joy and pain. He repeated the motion ready to increase the pressure. The growing intensity of Arthur’s thrust made John scream out in ecstasy. 

“I never want this to stop Arthur.” The declaration elicited a groan from the older man, his grip digging in John’s hips as he pushed the boy down hard onto his thick member. 

John was still attempting to role at his own rhythm but was quickly learning when Arthur was in control participation was a very hard thing. Better to let the wave take you and hold on for dear life. 

John’s nails punctured Arthur’s shoulders as the heat began to rise he was about to release over them. The tension was too much, having ejaculated twice already, he wasn’t sure if there was anything left to come out. 

He was edging towards his orgasm when Arthur withdrew, before he had time to complain he found Arthur’s body contorted, slipping him off his lap, his chest heaving behind his back. His calloused hand tightened around his neck. 

“You trying to play with me boy!” Arthur growled into his ear. Every nerve shot with electricity, Arthur’s kinky dominance igniting his inner submissive. 

“No sir" John was instantly compliant, missing the sensation of Arthur filling him. 

“Who is your master?” He commanded. 

“You are sir” Arthur slammed into the boy hard, the brutal thrust taking him by surprise, making him whimper. 

He set a relentless pace, railing with force into the boy. His hand tightening around his throat. His other hand bruising his hip as he thrust deep into his hole. John’s muscles became rigid, shocked by the intensity of the assault. He couldn’t feel, his mind blown by the ferocity in which his cowboy was using him, he was a dirty hole and nothing else. 

“Next time you get jealous, I will make you watch as I take them hard and fast. Do you want that?” John immediately knew, this was punishment for earlier, his tantrum over Mary-Beth, his addled mind released a smile. 

“No sir" John gasped a response. “I want you all for myself.” 

Arthur’s rhythm began to stutter, getting the point of release. “You greedy boy, never liked sharing.” Arthur smacked his ass, the burning sensation ushering his release. 

John contorted and squirmed under the pressure, a mild wave of ecstasy caressed his bones. He collapsed into Arthur whose long muscular arms gladly received him. Holding him in place as he pumped into him firmly until he found his own release. 

“I love you Arthur" John breathlessly said against the older man's chest. His frame draped softly around his muscular body. 

“I know, wish you didn’t” Arthur hummed back, caressing the boy's sweaty hair. 

“Don’t say that Arthur, you deserve love as much as anyone.” John was breathless slipping into unconsciousness but he was determined to make Arthur to submit to his declaration. 

“So do you” Arthur conceded “Just think you could have found someone better.” 

“Best person I know.” John whispered. 

“I know the company you keep, competition ain’t that fierce.” Arthur chortled. 

“I love you too.” He kissed his forehead, placing their heads together as he rocked them gently, allowing the last of the orgasmic glow to dissipate. 

John slipped into sleep, exhausted by the intense labours of love making. Arthur’s rigorous need to control, to explore his darker side taking its toll. 

Arthur slipped his arms around his frame and carried him back to bed, returning to dampen the fire and pick up some of best pelts, wrapping them delicately around John, he nestled into the warmth with a smile, contented. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback at this point will be gratefully received. Good, bad and indifferent.


	30. Unexpected Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, had awesome weekend, saw the Pixies on tour and then nursed a massive hangover so writing took a back seat.

Arthur returned to his stoic caring self over the next days. He kept John fed, took him hunting, forced him to take a bath. Their night of passion was not discussed, out of respect for John’s recovering body, Arthur didn’t want to tempt himself by raising the topic. Anxious about his ability to control himself around his lover, concerned over the potential rejection he thought was brewing. Instead, he displayed his affection with the odd chaste caress, warm glance and washed the boys neatly cut hair for him, all of which were accepted willingly, allaying his fears. 

John was grateful for the rest bite, his body bounced back quickly but his mind still needed to process the change. Having spent years desiring what Arthur had given him so passionately he now felt torn struggling to define what they were to each other. _ How they should act around each other _ _ ? O__utlaws in a gang, brothers in a family, lovers behind closed doors. _

The kinkiness was a revelation, one he enjoyed and was unsure of. He was completely and willingly submissive to the older man at the time. On reflection, Arthur’s inability to allow him to be dominant or lose complete control himself felt like a challenge, one he would commit to. Complete submission from the older man was the only way he would feel the older man was truly his. 

He flopped from excitement to darkness, unable to provide a voice to his concerns, unsure what it meant. The clandestine way in which they would have to conduct their relationship had yet to be discussed or acknowledged. It shook his bones, thinking of mindlessly kissing Arthur in front of the gang, it rolled in his mind continually, revealing their darkest secret by accident, destroying them. 

Arthur adept at reading John’s moods knew he was struggling; not quite sure which element of their newly formed relationship was causing him grief but knew that John would speak his truth when he was ready. Arthur already had the significant amount neurosis swirling in his mind, not wanting to voice them in case they added to John’s worries. The domesticity of the cabin was becoming suffocating, it was an unusual situation for both of them, one they weren’t coping with very well. 

John woke to an empty bed, Arthur always up with the lark. The stresses of the past few days had alleviated. John accepting that whatever it was they were and which path it eventually led them down at least they would be together. He found Arthur in the kitchen cleaning, his need to keep everything impeccably tidy made John smile. He convinced himself that his light as air movements didn’t alert Arthur to his presence, as he crept up on the outlaw and wrapped his arms around his thick waist. In truth, if he had crept up on him, he would likely have a gun in his face. 

“You will make someone a lovely house wife one day” he said mockingly, with a tinge of hope. Arthur stopped what he was doing and melted into the embrace. 

“Missed you.” He said acknowledging John’s prolonged mental absence had been a strain on him too. 

“I always come back, in the end.” He chuckled, a conclusion he often laid at the door of his outlaw. 

“Was it me?” Arthur’s ability to blame himself for everything never ceased to amaze the boy, to be perfection and consider yourself dirt. 

“No, you are everything. Just needed time.” John said softly. 

Arthur turned, picking John up of his feet and placing his naked frame on the table, enough time had passed and he wanted to be as close as humanly possible to his lover. John submitted to his force willingly, determined as ever to remember every last second. Unlike the previous two occasions Arthur was quicker, forgoing the prep work, went straight to the main course. John finally secure with his voice encouraged him over and over. Filth and profanities bounced off the walls of the cabin, punctured with the odd declarations of love. God got a mention a few times, prompting Arthur to point out he was no God just a man. 

His rising orgasm, the thickness of Arthur’s cock pushing into him made him lose all control. He pulled at Arthurs hair, capturing his eyes. “Harder Arthur, I want it harder.” His screamed, euphoria enveloping him as he took all of his lover. 

A shallow knock, barely audible amongst the creaking of the kitchen table and the screams of John, came from the door. They stayed motionless, preying it was their imagination, Arthur slipped out of John, his focus shifting. A second knock arrived; this time louder. 

“Arthur, its Mary-Beth” her shrill voice was a welcome relief and unwelcome annoyance, both conceded it could have been far worse. Arthur’s eyes devoured John, who was quivering, fear crippling his doe eyes, as his body crashed down from the high. 

“Hi Mary-Beth, what brings you all the way up here.” He hollered through the door. As he adjusted his pants, sheathing his now flaccid manhood. He helped John from the table, allowing to run off to the other room naked, giving his ass a quick tap to reassure him. 

“Hadn’t seen you in a while came to check you were alright.” Arthur smirked, he became a regular in town, spending most of his days there but since John’s arrival he had been rather busy. He opened the door and greeted Mary-Beth proper. She was the picture of civility, hair neatly tied up, clothes freshly pressed, nothing could suggest the cunning nature that lay beneath her youthful looks. 

“I brought some canned goods from the store; thought you might be running low and this letter arrived for you” Her eyes were innocent and thoughtful nothing on her face suggested that she heard anything or if she did was being too polite to let on. Arthur took the letter, recognising the handwriting immediately, concealing it under his shirt. 

“I was hoping if you had time you could read the chapter I wrote.” Arthur apologised profusely realising he had been neglectful to his new friend. 

“I tell you what Mary-Beth, I will read your chapter if you take John for a ride, I promised him I would show him around but have been busy with other things.” Her face lit up with the proposition. John now clothed was unsure why Arthur was sacrificing him. 

The day was glorious, the clouds rolled over the mountains and settled high above the plains. The shadows moved quickly across the ground, the wind rising and falling with each change of direction. Mary-Beth led them to a large oak, her favourite place to while away a few hours. John felt anxious around the young woman not sure why he was sent out by the older man. 

“I must admit John, I have got you here on rather false pretences.” Mary-Beth giggled, her laugh infectious. 

“You and your brother are a mighty handsome pair. When I met you the other day, I started to day dream that you might make a nice suitor, seeing as Arthur is too old for a girl like me.” John gulped, having never been approached as a potential suitor. 

“I um...I am flattered and all but don't think I make the best suitor.” She rolled with laughter at his awkwardness. 

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, you are very attractive.” She moved closer, placing her hand on his knee. He froze, unsure of the appropriate way to respond to this unwanted attention. 

“I can’t Mary-Beth, I am …... spoken for.” John was hesitant, speaking words he couldn’t believe were true. 

“I won't tell if you don’t?” Her provocative nature was overwhelming as she leaned in, her lips pursed for a kiss. John flinched realising what was happening. 

“No Mary-Beth I can’t, I love them too much to do that.” She screeched with glee, “Oh my, you love Arthur.” Her words took a moment to reverberate through his mind. 

“You know!” He screeched 

“You were hardly being discreet this morning.” Mary-Beth blushed revealing the truth “Harder Arthur, harder.” She mimicked the noises heard early that morning. “I might be young but not naïve.” 

John didn’t know what to say. His mind immediately flashing with two nooses ready for him and Arthur, the end most perverts found. His gun was holstered on his hip, should he draw it and end the girl, just to be safe. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, what you and Arthur choose to do is your own business.” She touched his arm delicately. “I think it's romantic, a love that’s name cannot be spoken.” 

John blushed, his intimacy with Arthur exposed already. He finally found his voice in the act of love making and it already got them into trouble. Arthur always said he wasn’t capable of being quiet. 

“I take it you aren’t actually brothers?” John stared for a moment at the mousy haired youngster, he felt a pain in his heart remembering the first time he was asked that question by his lovely Beth. Was Mary-Beth the same, another kind heart in this world of misery. He led against the oak requiring a moment to gather his thoughts. 

“Not by blood, No.” He finally responded. 

Mary-Beth could see a morose shadow fall across John’s face which was not her intention, she was intrigued and giddy to find out such a secret, thinking of how she could pen the romance into her next novel. She always had such a deft ability to captivating men into her webs of deceit. Arthur was one of the first men she met that could see right through her, John was potentially the same, she now understood why. 

“Tell me what it is like, loving Arthur?” He snapped out of his mind. 

“That is rather a forward question, Miss” John’s face grew red at the thought of revealing all. 

“I am a writer John; I have to be forward to be write in a genuine way.” Her lips curled, unable to conceal her eagerness. 

“It’s special, like nothing I can compare it to.” John rubbed the back of his neck, still not comfortable speaking about it. 

Mary-Beth swooned, the romance of it prickling against her skin. Her reaction was strange but confirmed she could be trusted; it was the same way Beth used to react when he discussed his feelings for Arthur. It always amazed John how much women could invest their own emotions into others. Against every nerve in his body, he began to illuminate the love affair he and Arthur found themselves tangled in. 

“The physical stuff has only just started but I have loved Arthur for years.” She crawled into his space, laying her head on his lap. He started from the beginning, the first moment he suspected his feelings were more than brotherly love. Hours passed, the young woman continued to gasp and swoon as he regaled her with their adventures. Eventually relaxing into the story, happy to be relieving himself of the secret. Grateful at the realisation that if someone had his confidence, he was less likely to inappropriately reveal their secret. 

“John, I am so jealous, that is the most romantic story I have ever heard. I wish I had half of that for myself.” John’s lips curled into an alluring smile; happy he was the recipient of that romance 

Mary-Beth's soft features were captivating, reminding him of Beth and her sparrow eyes that used to pinch and track his movements across the room. 

“I have never even been kissed.” She admitted, her eyes watching his reaction. He remembered that feeling, the empty void where warmth should be. 

He was led a power greater than his own understanding, softly caressing her cheek, watching as her pupils dilated from his touch. Their faces ghosted each other, as their noses gently rubbed as he hesitated momentarily. He nipped at her lip, as Arthur had always done to him, she moaned slightly. A deft touch of skin finally brought them together, their lips slowly moving in unison. John mused how different it was, the pressure and force was lacking but the lightness was provided a tingling sensation, he groaned. John grasped the back of neck pulling her nearer as his tongue licked along the rim of her lips, unsure if he should push forward. He was surprised when her tongue reached out to meet his, their tips bumping with nervousness. A sweeping motion allowed their tongues to fully meet, the moisture easing the friction as they began to dance and play. It was heady and light, each movement explorative as they moved deeper into the kiss. John was enjoying it, his dominance and power over the younger girl leading him on. 

Mary-Beth pulled away, wiped her lips, removing the moisture left by John. “Thank you, that was wonderful.” She gasped with excitement. 

“It doesn’t happen again.” John’s guilty conscience crashing in around him. 

“Please don’t get upset, it doesn’t mean anything. We don’t need to tell Arthur.” Mary-Beth tried to reassure him. 

“No, we don’t tell Arthur!” He said furiously, as though it was something they could casually drop into a conversation. 

“Come on, I will take you back to town.” John kept his manners helping the girl back to her feet, mounting and riding back to Rhodes. 


	31. Just like Jesse James

Dutch’s train arrived at noon; his pompous attire hard to miss against the backdrop of subdued hick fashion found in the rural south. He was not a welcome sight, his letter demanding a meeting with Arthur hadn't provided any insight into what the leader wanted. Arthur suspected Dutch was checking up on them, making sure his wayward sons were doing his bidding.

“Arthur!” he hollered with his faux joy; the darkness of the man always murmured just below the surface.

“Dutch” He casually tipped his gambler in greeting, his drawl strong.

Arthur guided his leader through the town of Rhodes, taking him to the Parlour house situated at the end of town. It was an old plantation house, built on the backs of slaves. When slavery ended, the family who owned it descended into destitution, it was converted into one of the few establishments a man could get a drink in Scarlett Meadows.

Arthur didn’t enjoy the setting, its violent history and disdainful present permeated through the walls. The tortured souls of slavery could still be felt, their presence endlessly crying out into the darkness of purgatory, making his bones tremble. Dutch loved it, always drawn to the kitsch and the different, certainly where he assessed an abundance of fools who could be taken.

He ordered a bottle of whiskey, placing it and two glasses on a table located to the back of the saloon, away from ears who might overhear them.

“How are you son, making money I hope?” He poured them a drink.

“You know me Dutch always breaking my back to keep you in the lifestyle you have come accustomed too.” His tone biting and sarcastic, a weariness befell the older man desiring to bite back but needing his son to be compliant.

“The gang is in trouble Arthur; we have used all our reserves and the boys spend more money than they make.” Dutch caressed his chin in contemplation, Arthur knew this mannerism well. Dutch had a plan.

“I can’t be responsible for supporting the whole gang, apart from Hosea and Susan the rest of you are more than capable of pulling your weight.” He mentally flexed his muscles, releasing the tension that had been bubbling for a while between them.

“Yes, and that goes for John too but he seems to get a free pass these days.” Arthur chuckled at the suggestion; John wanted in on every job, determined to prove himself as an asset to the gang even when he didn’t need to. That was Dutch’s influence, always had been. Where Arthur was praised appealing to his need to be wanted. John was always threatened, feeding his wolfish side that needed to prove everyone wrong. Dutch had an ability to identify weakness and play on it to get the results he wanted.

“John is out on a job now, if you must know.” He lied, wanting to protect the boy.

“Well I doubt he will earn enough to get us out of our problems, we need something big and bold.” Dutch gestured, pulling in the younger outlaw.

“There is a train due in St Denis next week, full of payroll and bonds.” Dutch’s warm breath caressed his skin, the tingling sensation sent a shiver up his spine.

“Are you crazy, we don’t have the man power or intellect to rob a train.” Arthur grabbed the whiskey pouring another glass for himself.

“Now come on Arthur, if those boys out west can hit the Southern Pacific, we can certainly do payroll in St Denis.” Dutch mused.

“The Dalton gang, you are comparing us to them, those boys are either dead or in prison.” Arthur downed his shot and poured another. “When they started they couldn’t stop, law got them in the end.”

“Arthur, just have some faith, I am talking about one train, enough take to get us back on our feet. Smoke and mirrors, by the time they work out they were hit we will be long gone.” Slapping his son on his back.

“I don’t know Dutch.” He knocked his third whiskey back, experience told him when Dutch had an idea no reason would steer him away from it. He could moan and protest but really the sooner he accepted it and put in place the necessary planning the more likely they would get away with it.

“I want you and John back in the next two days, should give you time to wrap up whatever it is you are doing out here.” His bushy black eyebrows raised suggestively, intimating he possibly knew more that he was letting on.

“You ain’t Jesse Dutch, he has achieved more dead than you have alive.” He took the bottle, necking a few hard swigs.

“Don’t be taking this gang to hell to secure your name in history, you ain’t that good” He smirked, it was ruthless, a secret he had always known, Dutch desired infamy, he wanted to be known throughout the states like Jesse James himself. It was a secret he kept from the rest of the gang about their leader but knew it would sting to hear.

“You listen here boy, I am every bit the outlaw, if anything I am better because I am not dead.” Dutch grabbed his jaw squeezing it tight in his large hands.

“We are thieves in a world that don’t want us no more.” Arthur broke his hold, he was stronger than their leader, unsure when it happened but the older man couldn’t force him anymore. Dutch’s coal eyes burned intensely realising his strength alone could not govern the younger outlaw.

"Arthur my dear boy, we will do this job and get enough to go out west. The warmth will help Hosea to finally heal and John has never seen the Pacific. I am sure there is nothing more you want in this world than to stand on the cliffs at Mendocino with your arms wrapped around the boy.” The glint in his black eyes betrayed his thoughts, he may have suspected but he didn’t know, not fully. He studied Arthur for any reaction that confirmed his suspicions, Arthur stayed stoic, his muscles tensed slightly as to control any spasm or flinch that Dutch would read as confirmation.

“John doesn’t like water Dutch; doubt he is interested in the Pacific.” He tried to deflect with an aloof casualness. Pushing the whiskey bottle away, wishing he hadn't imbibed so much, needing his wits about him to deflect the conversation.

“Enough, I will see you and John in St Denis in two days' time, I want you sharp on this one, keep your belly aching to yourself.” He rose from the chair, chucking a few dollars on the bar and left. Arthur watched the casual sway of his hips as he left the parlour.

Arthur continued to drink, his mind swirling with the dangers their leaders was placing them in. He knew it would be his responsibility to get the gang through this. The rag tag mongrels were barely capable of fleecing a country bumpkin let alone pulling off a train robbery. Once the bottle was empty, he fell out in the late afternoon, the hues of orange and blue felt stifling as the dust whipped around him, he stumbled through the streets towards the station where he’d left Boadicea.

“Arthur” a quiet whisper called to him from an alleyway between the gunsmiths and the undertakers. In his drunken haze he thought it could be John but was disappointed to find their leader was waiting for him.

“What you still doing here Dutch, I got the message.” The older man used all his force to slam him against the side of the building. His drunken state making it easier.

“What the hell Dutch!” He protested struggling to stay on his feet.

“I didn’t just come here to tell you about the job Arthur, I wanted to see you.” His gaze lightened slightly but the embers were still burning.

“You seen me Dutch, no reason to hang around.” Arthur shuffled slightly, feeling claustrophobic from the closeness.

“You have been so distant lately; I know St Denis ain’t to your liking but the gang Arthur, we are family. Don’t distance yourself from the only family you have.” His softness was unnerving, playing the heartstrings of the outlaw expertly. He leant in closer caressing his cheek; sparks of electricity flew through every nerve as he swooned into the touch. Dutch’s lips crashed into Arthurs with surprise, he met them with tampered ferocity before regaining his senses and pushing him away.

“Dutch, what are you doing, anyone could see?” He protested his drawl adding impetuous to his unease.

“Come on now Arthur, since you were fifteen, I have known you, known the real you. That itch needs scratching. You might be able to control it most of the time but you always come back.” Arthur shuddered; he vowed the last time they were intimate, when Hosea was sick north of Colter, was the last time. His leader wasn’t loving or caring, just brutal, he used Arthur’s needs as a tool to control the outlaw. For a while it was sensible, it protected him from the brutal realities of his condition but over time Arthur came to realise it was just another weapon in his method of control.

“I don’t want it no more Dutch.” He hardened his stance determined to make Dutch see he was serious.

“Arthur, appetites don’t go away, the only thing I can think is you are fulfilling them elsewhere.” His eyes scanned up and down his son, for any signs he was right.

“Is that why you have been staying away from the gang? Got yourself a little bolthole with a lover in situ?” Arthur chuckled with relief. The man was clearly fishing but his early reaction had moved him away from the suspicion it was John.

“No Dutch, appetites don’t go away, I just don’t want you no more.” The words stung; Dutch visibly shaken by the idea that his secret lover was no longer compliant.

“I am sorry to hear that son; you know I enjoyed our times together.” Dutch was being coy; he brushed his cheek one last time in an attempt to reignite some feeling between them. Arthur shuddered, his caresses and wooing words always made him melt. He knew it was wrong, some sick mechanism used to play on his vulnerabilities. His stomach twisted as his resolve crumbled, was he being ungrateful to his leader, the man who put aside his own desires to fulfil Arthurs, to keep him safe. Things were tense between them for a while, the gang, Hosea’s sickness, meant their usual amenable relationship had become toxic. Perhaps he was conflating the two things, he could disagree with Dutch the leader whilst still being open with his lover. He vomited, conflicted by what he was feeling.

“Arthur, I wish you wouldn't do this to yourself, I know you have to play both parts and you do it so well, every now and then the boy that I love can come out. Let me make you feel good, you will feel better for it.” Dutch plunged for his neck, sucking hard along the sweat soaked muscle. Arthur groaned from the pressure before remembering John.

“No Dutch, it's not safe here. Go back to St Denis and it we will talk about it when I get back. I got a train robbery to plan, can’t be getting distracted.” Dutch’s wry smile covered his face.

“Good boy, knew you would come around.” He patted Arthur on the ass and sauntered off towards the train station.


	32. The Start

Arthur rode Boadicea back to the cabin, setting a slow pace, he was in no mood to face John as his mind rattled with thoughts of Dutch. _F__ooled again_ he thought to himself, aware that Dutch’s words were a means to an end. Dutch got what he wanted, playing Arthur superbly and this time not having to give anything more than a kiss. 

He remained conflicted, when their relationship first started it was soft, loving, exploratory. Dutch had been clear to him that he was not that way inclined but the love he had for his wayward son was enough to do what he thought to be the right thing. 

It all started when Dutch found his books on Renaissance art ruined. He and Hosea discussed who would have the chat, Dutch drew the short straw. He was grateful, noticing the pages that were stuck together were of the male subjects, it added a level of complexity to the otherwise right of passage talk that all fathers had with their sons. Hosea's soft soul was not the type to firmly deal with the predilection being displayed, it needed a firm hand to deal with. 

The night he chose to do it he sent the rest of the camp away. Hosea and Bessy went to a show, inviting Susan and Annabel who gladly accepted. He produced a bucket of beers, Arthur’s eyes lighting up at the opportunity to drink freely, not sneaking one behind the women’s backs. 

After a few beers and drivel about nonsense Dutch produced his book. Throwing it in front of the young man. Arthur consumed the sight of the book, last seen under his bed, believing was his to use as he wanted. Dutch shuffled unsure how to broach the topic. 

“You seem to be enjoying the art?” Dutch took a gulp of beer 

“Yeah it’s really good, my pictures are coming along nicely.” He mimicked his mentor taking a gulp of beer. 

“I would like to see them, see how your improving?” Dutch ushered him to see his journal. Arthur blushed, his journal was a gift from Dutch and Annabel for his birthday, more Annabel's influence. She told him that it was private that he could record his thoughts and draw, a space all of his own. He didn’t contemplate that anyone would want to see it. 

He hesitantly retrieved it from under his cot. Flicking through the pages, finding those that could be viewed. What if Dutch took it off him, went through each page. He couldn’t share. The light of his tent dimmed, the shadow of the older man looming over him. He slapped the journal shut. 

“Let me see Arthur" Dutch's hands gripped the leather bound journal. Arthur relinquished never refusing a request from the older man. 

His fingers flicked gently from page to page, every now and again his eyes would widen slightly. No hint of disgust but Arthur’s stomach somersaulted all the same. Dutch kneeled, resting on his haunches, placing the journal on Arthur’s lap, the page held open on a picture of a man. His muscles thick and taut, defined and tall. His appendage stood to attention full and pulsing. 

“You have an appreciation for the male form.” Dutch stated, running his hand along Arthur’s thigh an attempt to reassure. 

Arthur wanted to die, wanted the world to swallow him whole. “I draw what I know, never seen a naked woman.” An attempt, weak as it was. 

“Arthur, it’s ok. I just need you to be honest. I can’t help you if you are not honest.” His lips pursed, unsure what the right thing to do was. He loved Arthur, the boy was an asset, absorbing all he was taught with glee. He couldn’t bare the thought of losing him. 

“I don’t know Dutch.” Arthur began to sob, his body trembling as the pressure released from his muscles. 

“Then we find out Arthur, together. Whatever it is we will protect you because we are family.” Arthur collapsed into the older mans arms. His face nestled into his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. Dutch embraced him, his hand caressing his hair, cooing softly into his ear. 

He pressed in, running his jaw along his cheek. Arthur moved recognising the contact as something different. His warm blue eyes full of pain met the kind dark eyes of his mentor. His heart thumping through his chest as he moved his lips closer, hesitating and then pulling slightly back. Dutch frowned; he knew he had to be confident for Arthur. He moved closer, his lips ghosting Arthur’s, neither capable of making the final move. 

Moments passed, paralysed with fear, knowing this step if taken could never be undone. It was Arthur trembling that took the step, pushing their lips together. Neither moved just allowed the contact. Arthur felt the tickle of moustache hair against his lip. He pulled away, unable to look at him 

“How did that feel?” Dutch asked, his tone sensitive. Arthur gasped unable to give words to his feelings. 

“Don’t think about me or you or anyone. Just tell me how it felt?” Dutch rubbed his shoulder for reassurance. 

“Felt good" he murmured. “Want more” A crushing pain constricted his heart at the admission. Dutch understood, he would have to lead. 

His fingers caressed his jaw line guiding him back. Their lips met, this time Dutch moved his, capturing the lower lip as he messaged gently. Arthur followed, learning as always. The pace increased as they both became more involved in the sensation. Dutch knew this was the point of no return, they either stopped or went all the way. 

He parted his lips with his tongue, running it along the gap. The sensation made Arthur groan, as he pushed his own tongue to meet. Their saliva mingled the softness was warm and sensual. Dutch caressed his hair, his fingers tangling into the light locks, pushing him deeper. 

Arthur’s hands began to explore, sliding lightly across muscle, first the forearms, then biceps, finally resting on the chest. Dutch became intrigued whether this was stirring something in the boy below his waist. Dutch felt conflicted, having never had these thoughts or feelings towards another man, never even considered. Yet here he was thinking about the younger man's throbbing manhood. 

His hands wandered, the flexing thigh muscles felt strong under his touch. His thumb caressed in the gap, grazing the erect bulge that sat between his legs. It flinched in acknowledgment. He was big even at fifteen. Dutch moaned, realising that he wanted this, wanted to be Arthur’s first. 

They kissed and caressed on and off for an hour, eventually working their way to the cot. Their lips swollen and painful from their ministrations. Arthur rested his head on Dutch's heaving chest, his fingers twisting in his hair. 

“I will help you Arthur to explore your wants and desires.” Dutch proclaimed. “You have to help me, speak the truth of what you want because I have never done this before.” Arthur’s eyes darted up full of want and need. 

“No one can know about this Arthur, I love Annabel with every fibre of my being but I love you too.” Dutch caressed his cheek. “Our little secret.” He kissed his forehead. 

“I want more Dutch, want everything.” Arthur stuttered relieved he could now speak his truth. 

He shook the memory, like all his memories it near broke him. Thinking of the moment when all the possibilities were wild and exciting. The moment he was given the freedom to explore his deepest desires. Like everything in his life, it had turned sour, not going the way he dreamed. He paid for his selfishness, blaming his wants and needs on the death of Annabel. Whilst, not directly linked, the guilt of wishing her away in his younger years so he could have Dutch to himself meant she was taken. Gone, when he wanted nothing more than to have her back. 

Boadicea sauntered back into the small holding, Jezebel nickered at their arrival. John was back, his heart sunk, a new sense of guilt that the boy had not even crossed his mind since leaving Rhodes. 


	33. The truth will set you free

John was pacing around the floor when Arthur arrived, his skittish energy permeated through every pore. The older man was a little surprised, not expecting such a wild and untamed force to be controlling the boy. 

“What’s wrong John?” Arthur asked, shaking his own morose feelings, concerned for John. 

The younger man jumped not realising the outlaw had returned. His face flashed with a terror that Arthur hadn't witnessed since his youth. It sent a chill up his spine, his mind running through all the potential horrors that could elicit such a primal response. 

“What happened, is Mary-Beth ok?” The question sent spasms through the boys frame. He didn’t respond. 

Arthur paused, having to recall how they dealt with the darkness in his youth. It had been a while since this intensity of feeling had to be contained. He approached slowly, making his movements controlled and considered. His bulk was large against John's but the boys pace was still too skittish. He pulled him close enveloping him in his muscular arms. 

The shaking didn’t subside, it was rattling in his bones. Arthur began to rub the back of his neck, the pressure was always harder at the start, countering the younger mans shakes. Unlike when he was younger Arthur felt drawn to using his lips, landing feather light kisses on his temple and cheek. The tenderness began to have its desired effect, John calmed nuzzling his face into Arthur’s neck. 

“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” Arthur whispered into his ear. 

John huffed, his breath warm against the older mans skin. His fingers tightly knotting into Arthur’s shirt, anchoring him in place. “I kissed Mary-Beth” John tensed, expecting a violent reaction to his revelation. 

“Ok" Arthur responded bemused, trying to conceal his amused smile. He lowered his hand from his neck and started to massage his back. 

“You're not mad?” John’s voice quivered. 

“Do you want me to be mad?” Arthur kissed his neck, feeling slightly aroused by John’s behaviour. 

“Did you enjoy it?” He asked, before John could respond to his first question. Moving to the other side of his neck, this time sucking harder, his teeth nipping at the skin. John groaned heat rising in his stomach. 

“Was she better than me?” his large calloused hands grabbing the younger mans ass. 

“She reminded me of Beth, I just wanted to be close to her again.” Arthur stopped, resting his lips on his neck as his mind processed the words. He felt a pang of guilt, forgetting that under the wolf bravado there was the doe who was still mourning his lover. 

“M’sorry John” Arthur mumbled against his skin. 

“Why are you sorry? I was the one who did it, kissed Mary-Beth I mean.” John chucked breathlessly, confused by the apology. 

Arthur grasped John’s hips holding him steady as his ocean blue eyes set hard on John’s large brown eyes. “You are still mourning John, I should respect that.” He rested their foreheads together. 

“I am not worried about you kissing Mary-Beth, you are young, still discovering who you are. You’re experimenting, experimenting with Beth, experimenting in St Denis, experimenting with me and now Mary-Beth.” John listened considering his words. 

“I’m not experimenting with you, I love you Arthur" his gravel voice betraying a small whine. 

“I know you do but that doesn’t mean this will be forever, I ain't gonna be your house wife, I am an outlaw and a bad man.” His eyes sunk at his own words. 

John’s heart broke, it’s all he ever wanted, something that they had finally given credence to and now it was being described as fleeting, something to occupy their time whilst they weren’t outlawing. 

“It’s forever for me.” His face flashed with anger, his wolfish glare rising. “Now I have you, I am never letting you go.” Arthur gulped remembering a similar declaration he once made to Dutch, it was the hubris of youth, life was not that simple. 

“It can't be that way John, I thought you understood that.” Arthur brushed his hands through his hair, trying to find the right words to prevent this escalating into an argument. “We can’t be a couple, living in a homestead, that’s no us.” 

“Then what are we?” John’s voice ratcheted, his frustrations bubbling. 

“We are Arthur Morgan and John Marston, outlaws in the Van der Linde gang.” Arthur concealed his nerves twitching as he said it, knowing he didn’t truly believe. 

John moved away, this time he moved with considered fluidity, the man in him taming the boy. “That’s what we do Arthur, it ain’t who we are and you know it.” He aimed for the door, slamming it behind him. John’s anger could display as much violence as Arthur’s when pushed. 

Time passed, Arthur spent it packing up his things, gently wrapping his picture frames, placing them into his furs. Bundling and binding all he held dear into one roll that could sit on the back of his horse. All he had to show for his wayward life. Each picture represented a loss, his mother taken from him at a young age, Mary the wife he never had and Isaac his beautiful boy. His loss hurt the most, the one that he vowed would close his heart to love forever. Then John _bloody_ Marston declared his love for him, that he had loved him for years, told him he was the best person he knew. 

He huffed, it was his fault again. He grabbed two beers and went outside. John was sat on the porch, smoking, legs shaking, a sign his anger hadn’t abated. 

“Here" Arthur placed the bottle next to him took a step back leaning against the wall of the cabin as he retrieved his own smokes. They remained silent, the cold night air pricking against their skin. Their nonchalant stances would suggest two friends enjoying the silence rather than lovers in their first argument. 

“I thought I loved a man once.” Arthur offered the information, deciding if John could be honest with him, he should be honest with John. 

“He recognised that I had needs outside what was deemed normal.” John didn’t respond but took a swig of the beer. 

“I stupidly took his affections to mean something more. Even though he was clear it didn’t.” Arthur took it as a sign that John’s anger was melting. 

“Told him I loved him once, that I wanted us to be together forever.” He let the words hang in the air, remembering. 

“What did he say?” John remained reticent, staring off to the distance. 

“Didn’t say nothing just beat me stupid, gave me this scar on my chin.” Arthur brushed the stubble of his chin feeling the raised bump of the scar on his chin. 

John’s face grimaced, his jaw dropped as he stared at Arthur. He acknowledged the younger mans gaze, the penny dropping that he knew. 

“Dutch gave you that scar. Hosea told me it was because you had an argument.” John could wipe the shock of the revelation. 

“Can a man not have a secret in this gang and do you have to remember everything everyone tells you about me?” Arthur chuckled, his family of outlaws gossiped worse than washer women. 

“You and Dutch?” John’s eyes were wild. 

“Me and Dutch, it want nothing really, he just wanted to protect me, help me work out what I was. A bit like how I was worried about you when you were that age.” Arthur got up, retrieving another two bottles from the cabin. Returning to find John’s head resting against the frame of the porch for support. He sat closer now crossing his legs in an attempt to trap the boy. 

“You said you loved him?” John croaked. 

“Thought I did at the time, he made me see it was the attention that I loved and not him. Then I met Mary and then Eliza" Arthur wanted to reach out to caress his cheek, feel that what he was telling him was ok. 

“Is that what you think this is? That I like the attention but will find a woman?” John voice was husky, unnerving. 

“No, I never thought of Dutch in that way until he kissed me. I know you love me, you worshipped the ground I walked on since you were twelve.” He leant forward, taking his hand and kissing it. John blushed slightly, not realising his own affections were that obvious. 

“Why are you telling me this now?” John’s questions were blunt, his tone suspicious. 

“I want you to know why I am like this, you are so sure of your feelings, I have been hurt too many times to allow myself to believe this is forever." He kissed his wrist, pining for tenderness. John’s frown didn’t lessen but he didn’t push him away. 

“Did Annabelle know?” John gasped realising the implications. 

“God no, no one knew. I used to sneak out after him when no one was looking.” Arthur took a swig of his beer. John was silent for a few moments his mind whirling with questions, confusion trying to think back to see if there were signs that he had missed. 

“I can't believe it” he finally broke the silence. “Dutch has always been a father to us.” 

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh, Dutch was only eight years older than him. It was only the mans bravado that made him seem older. “If we are talking about family, you are my brother but didn’t hear you complaining.” 

John was stunned by his aloofness at it all. This was too much for his mind to comprehend fully. “I can’t believe how incestuous this gang is, what next Hosea and Susan?” 

Arthur smiled generously, his dimples showing, his eyes alive with mischief. “That was two Christmases ago.” 

“No!” John shook his head. A slight giggle leaving his lips. 

“How have I missed all of this?” John said perplexed but enlightened. 

“That’s easy, you are self-absorbed and selfish. Probably fingering yourself thinking about me.” Arthur rolled with laughter. 

“I meant what I said, this only stops when you want it to.” Arthur kissed his hand several times. “Just know life goes on, we are still outlaws.” 

Arthur got up, reaching his hand to the younger outlaw, he hesitantly accepted it allowing the older mans strength to pull him to his feet. 


	34. The Prodigy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite chapter, I enjoyed writing every word. Hope you like :)

The aroma of beer set his senses alive as his taste buds tingled with essence of John. The younger man’s tongue probed and poked with his own. In response, his pulsated, capturing the cavernous gap of his mouth moistening his lips. He swooned, for the first time truly relaxing into the passionate endeavours of the boy. His muscles twitched, his mind empty, choosing to relinquish full control to his lover. 

John could feel the difference, the older man's weight not pushing hard, contouring and controlling, moulding him into unspeakable positions. His tone usually masterful and dominating had not whispered a word. If the kiss was not so intoxicating, he would have thought Arthur had lost interest. 

John accepted the non-verbal cue that he could lead. Having dreamt for so long to have Arthur compliant under his touch, he knew what exactly he wanted to do. His fingers made quick work of his shirt buttons, the soft lamp light eliminating the alluring curves of his muscles. Breaking their kiss, his lips landed on his chin, kissing the scar, his wicked eyes flashing a momentary glance that sent vibrations through Arthur. John was claiming him, kissing the mark left by his previous lover, eradicating the man's touch to the past. John was going to show Arthur how good the future could be. 

The prodigy exposed the master to the possibilities, that their love could be sensual and slow, his mouth working hard, consciously adapting his touch, as Arthur trembled under the breath-taking attention he was receiving. Blood was pumping to every extremity, his arousal thick in the confines of his pants. His nipples were solid, John ran a deft caress every so often to draw a mewl, its timbre heavenly, as the noise was outside of his nature. 

The thud of his metal belt buckle hitting wood, rolled a groan of satisfaction from his lips. The anticipation made his toes tense as he peered down. John knelt before him, no longer a picture of innocence to be protected or taken forcefully, dependent on his mood. John’s gaunt pale features illuminated by gas light revealed his confidence, he knew what he wanted, the desire exuded out of him. His wolf eyes consumed the sight of the older man, who's skin burned with the heat of a furnace, unable to hide his enjoyment of the tortuous pleasure he was being gifted. 

“I am going to make you feel so good.” He declared as he unsheathed Arthur's sizable manhood from is confines. The way it bounced in the air could easily drive him over the edge. It was thick, long, veins protruding, it amazed John that Arthur was still standing as most of the mans blood appeared to be in his engorged penis. 

He pushed back the skin, revealing the full bulbous head of his cock, it was already leaking. His tongue lapped along the head, savouring the taste of the man, he was salty and pungent but not unpleasant. John began bobbing, feeling reassured as his lovers calloused hands ran through his locks. He increased his speed, inching further and further down the shaft, his cheeks hollow as he prepared to be filled. Arthur’s husky groans bounced off the walls, encouraging John without speaking. The younger man's cheeks flushed red, as his nose came into contact with the outlaw's pubic hair, he was fully seated. John attempted a few full strokes, until he felt the need to gag. 

He quickly unsheathed his mouth, running his tongue down the length so not to lose momentum, keeping Arthur on the edge. His hands returned to stroke him as he prepared to do something, he was unsure whether it would be good. Arthur’s balls were tight against his shaft, full and close to blowing. He licked from the back, round to the front, gently up the shaft. Arthur’s hands gripped his hair tightly, as he groaned. Feeling intrigued, he wrapped his mouth around the one and gently sucked, still massaging his shaft with his hands. His hazy brown eyes looked up wanting to see his lover's reaction. Arthur was a work of art, his body strained, tensing every magnificent muscle, carved from granite by God, his hair usually neat and tight was tumbling forward, partially concealing his pooling eyes, almost black from his dilated pupils. John was impressed, a momentary smile of pride leaving his lips before he continued, convinced Arthur wound be his forever. 

“Talk to me Arthur, I want to hear your voice.” John commanded, as he massaged his tongue all over the sensitive skins of his genitalia. He groaned in protest, not having the capacity for words. 

Arthur gripped the wooden cabinet behind him, his knuckles white as he tried to contain his growing release. His mind trying to think of words that would add to the occasion. 

“Your mouth is so pretty around my cock.” The words were too erotic even for him, John began bobbing again, the speed increasing, feeling his cock grow and swell in his mouth. 

John moaned provocatively, his tongue tracing a line along the thick vein that ran on the underside of his shaft. His own heat rising, he slipped his hand between his legs massaging his own bulge. 

“I am going to come.” Arthur roared. John grabbed his ass, pulling him closer so he could get deeper. The older man understood, the boy wanted his spend in his mouth, he wanted it too. He began bucking into his mouth, using his moist hole to drive his release. 

“John” he groaned, his eyes rolled over, lids closed as he filled the boys mouth with his hot seed. Blinded by white intensity, he buckled slightly, attempting to keep his frame aloft as his mind ricocheted around the room, He floated lightly back down from his high, his lids opening to see John fall backwards, his eyes wild. The creases of his forehead suggesting he was unsure if he enjoyed the sensation, using his shirt sleeve to rub away the residual come that dribbled down his chin. 

Arthur collapsed to his knees, falling between the boys lap. “Fuck me John, I want you inside me.” He clashed their lips together, tasting himself on the boys tongue. He was overwhelmed, the ripples of pleasure from his orgasm confirming he wanted more, wanted to feel the sensation of his prostate being massaged by John’s long slender shaft. 

“I have never done it before, what if I hurt you?” John protested, more nervous at the thought of sheathing his member, still at nineteen he’d never penetrated anyone else, man or woman. 

“You’ve never given a blow job before but that was amazing, don’t be so nervous you are clearly gifted.” Arthur chuckled still glowing from the high. 

An unexpected tear rolled down John’s cheek, he caught it quickly hoping Arthur wouldn’t notice. He did, even with a mind-bending orgasm pulsating through his frame, he was still eagle eyed, sensing the slightest change in mood as though he was gifted with an additional sense, more tuned than most people's sense of smell or hearing. It unnerved John sometimes, how Arthur noticed everything. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? I didn’t mean to upset you.” He kissed John earnestly, his lips swollen and potent were so luscious, his vulnerability adding to his seductive appeal. Arthur was by no means a gentleman, when John’s emotional state shifted due to some unknown darkness, he wanted nothing more that to fuck that darkness out of him. 

John collapsed his arms around him, his cheek resting on his lovers' shoulder. The older man pulled him into his lap wrapping his legs around his waist, he ran his hand through his hair and began to rock gently back and forward. How he used to coo Isaac back to sleep, although John was much larger than his boy. The tenderness was welcome, he could do this forever. 

“I never wanted to do it.” John’s voice quivered. 

“Do what?” Arthur’s husky voice trying to calm him. 

“When I lived on the streets, I used to pleasure men with my mouth.” Arthur squeezed him so tightly, they had been together so long, sharing victories and hardships alike, he had almost forgotten about John’s harrowing life before the gang. Arthur knew he suffered at the hands of men but they never discussed it. Arthur’s comfort was always physical, a hug, a chest to lie on, massaging his neck, a gentle kiss of reassurance. It didn’t feel prudent to ask, as if the boy speaking his pain out loud wouldn’t provide him with relief, it wouldn't eradicate the experience. Now seven years after they first met, John was telling him, what had caused them to have so many nights wrapped in each other arms. 

“Did they do anything else to you?” Arthur carefully prompted, realising that he interpreted John’s hesitation in the bedroom as naivety, he took the lead, controlled, educating the boy. Really, John probably knew everything already, his mouth went dry at the thought. 

“No, a guy tried to stick it in me but I stabbed him.” He sobbed, “That’s when I ran, ran for days until I was so hungry thought I was going to die.” His body quaked remembering. “Got caught stealing food, then you saved me from the noose.” Arthur pulled his head up, resting their foreheads together. The tears were a constant stream, the older man rubbed his thumbs across his cheeks disrupting the channels. “Worst time of my life.” John confessed. 

“One of the best days of mine" Arthur countered trying to make him see the bad things led to one good thing. Arthur found John. John's lips curled, the sentiment penetrating the darkness, rubbing the remaining tears away. 

“Anyway, now you know how my whore mouth got so good.” The words crushed Arthur. 

“Don’t talk like that, you were a child.” He kissed his forehead. 

“You did what you needed to survive, I am so proud of you, I don't know if I would've been so brave.” John was breathless, his face creased with emotion. He always idolised Arthur, wanted to emulate him because he was disgusted with who he was and what he had done. To hear the older man say he was proud and call him brave made his heart beat faster, it was painful, he didn’t know what to do. 

Arthur did, grasping the back of neck and began to massage again. Calming the boy back down. They sat in silence for a few moments, a small breath of satisfaction left John’s lips, signalling their tense muscles to relax. 

“I met a girl in St Denis.” John said, his breath was warm against Arthur’s neck. 

“Did you kiss her too?” He said in his droll tone, not able to let the opportunity for some levity to slip by. 

“No, she was a child moron, one of the kids from the opium den. Her name was Rose.” Arthur listened intently, interested to hear about the poor kids that had run around his feet, sprayed in the blood of the men that had abused them. It wasn’t his proudest moment, he should have got them out first, kept them safe before unleashing his fury. _ Easier said than done _, John had got him wound up so tight, a coiled spring that needed release. 

“I gave her a flower, her eyes were sorrowful. I recognised that look, one where you know something bad has happened to you but know one seems capable of giving it meaning.” John huffed, frustrated by his inferiority. “It hurt Arthur, seeing her, knowing that in a few years she could be back on the streets, repeating the abuse over and over because no one has shown her any different.” Arthur brushed the hair from his face, capturing his gaze with the intoxicating blue hue of his smiling iris'. 

“She may be fine, get adopted, have a happy life and not remember any of it happened.” He rubbed their noses, trying to bring John back from the darkness. 

“Let’s go back to St Denis, I would like to meet Rose.” Arthur offered, watching John’s lips curl upwards. 

“I would like that, the sister is also wonderful and kind, it would be good to see her too.” Arthur chuckled, 

“I am sure she is, as she got most my stash.” John lightly hit his chest, playfully chastising him. Always pretending to be indifferent when deep down he cared just as much as John. 

“I can’t do what you asked, not yet, I am not ready.” Arthur raised an eyebrow, whilst he understood that John was in no mood to ride him now he was unsure of why he wasn’t ready. 

“We can wait, there is no rush.” Arthur ran his hands up his back making his skin tingle. 

“Can I ask why?” He couldn’t help himself, intrigued why this was the transition was unsure of. 

“I feel safe when you are inside me, protected. I am not old enough to protect you.” Arthur smiled, it was rather a complex rational, he thought they were making love, exploring their carnal pleasure. Clearly John’s mind, that had overthought everything since the day they met, was adding layers of meaning to the act that Arthur wasn’t. 

“I will always protect you John, it’s my job. You sticking your cock in me isn’t going to change that.” Arthur lifted him from his lap, sweeping him up in his arms. 

“I know, just give me time.” John yawned, glad to be carried to bed by his protective outlaw. They curled up together, John nestled in the curve of his frame falling asleep before him. Arthur couldn’t sleep his restless mind counting all the lies, even when he was telling the truth he still managed to lie. He tried to convince himself it was necessary to protect John, Dutch, the gang. In reality he couldn’t bare anyone knowing the truth, the truth was he was a bad man, using those he loved to get what he wanted. 


	35. History Repeating

A thick mist filled the valley, its ghostly fingers reaching over the hills around the cabin, searching for something that was not visible to mortal eyes. Arthur sipped his hot coffee, scanning the horizon the hue of his iris cold. He allowed John to sleep, craving time to rationalise his own thoughts, contemplating his next moves. He'd convinced the younger man to return to St Denis with such ease. The unquestioning trust he displayed towards him constricted his heart, playing on his concern for the young girl, Rose. Bile sat in his throat, having concealed the real reason for their return, Dutch's plan. 

The blue hue of his eyes warmed as the distant celestial orb that provided life to all, elevated itself above the ghostly mist. The divine artist’s palette, mixing and brushing expressive strokes of oranges and reds across the blues and whites. The light chasing the darkness away. Arthur mused over the hints of the darkness that still remained, purple shadows creased under the cotton white clouds, the odd star still visible. Even the full goodness of the life-giving sun, could not defeat all of the night in one reckoning, instead it creeped gently and assuredly, knowing its righteousness would win out eventually. If Arthur desired goodness for himself and John, he would have to accept the night and day that swirled within him, slowly allowing the goodness to win. 

“It’s pretty" John said, his arms slipping around the bulk of man. Arthur hummed at the simplicity of his words, his lover was no wordsmith. 

They stood together watching the suns ascension above the horizon. Arthur shared his coffee with the youngster, not wanting to break the moment. Aware that this morning might be the last where they could behave so openly with each other for a while. 

The autumnal day was unusually warm as they set off. Riding side by side as they descended the hilly terrain, heading towards Rhodes. They both agreed to visit Mary-Beth, a goodbye was the least the warm hearted girl deserved. Her presence was a welcome distraction when Arthur arrived in Rhodes, still rattled by the incident in the opium den. 

Arthur felt a sudden tension bolt up his spine, his partner was being unusually quiet. He glanced over, identifying the whimsical expression of John holding a provocative thought, one he knew was going to make him squirm. John caught him looking, accepting it as an invitation to speak his mind. 

“Did you ever penetrate Dutch?” John asked nonchalantly. Arthur shook his head, a wry smile crossed his face. He may never guess what nonsense would come out of those cupid bow lips but he always knew when it was coming. John still had a way of being embarrassingly blunt, he never fully lost his youthful questioning. 

“Once” Arthur choked the answer, “He didn’t like it.” Not wishing to remember the evening in question. 

“I can’t imagine it, any of it, you and Dutch? He isn’t exactly attractive?” John scrunched his face comically. 

“He was a handsome man in his younger years, you turning up prematurely aged him.” Arthur quipped, feeling strangely protective over their leaders looks. 

“Don't see it myself.” John’s said honestly, his innocent tone deflecting the cruelty towards their leader. 

“You criticising my taste in men? I think I have been pretty consistent. Dark hair, brown eyes, petulant know all’s who have me running around after them.” Arthur creased with laughter, highlighting the similarities between Dutch and John. John scowled he was nothing like Dutch, if only Arthur knew how much he detested the man. He could never tell him, Arthur was loyal, whilst their leader was no longer his lover, he was still what mattered. An inappropriate thought crossed his mind, one he knew would wind up the older man. 

“Black hair, brown eyes, does that mean Javier is your type too?” John’s lips curled malevolently, convinced he was going to win this battle. 

“No, dont think he is into it.” Arthur dipped his hat, trying to hide his blushing cheeks. 

“But you have thought about it, I can tell!” John bellowed, recognising the tell. He was giddy with excitement having discovered one of Arthur’s secrets without having to be told. Arthur lusted over the Mexican. The outlaw tried to remain stoic, any protest would be taken as a confession. John’s mind rattled through his memories, trying to identify any occasions that would prove his theory. Arthur could see the smoke coming out of his ears. Then with a blink of an eye, the slightest dilation of pupil, John grinned. 

“Do you remember the hunting trip to Ambarino?, The one where I went over the cliff.” Arthur’s eyelids narrowed scanning the younger man, unsure where his questioning was going but confident, he wouldn’t be pleased with the outcome. 

“The hunting trip you weren’t invited on? How can I forget!” Arthur said sarcastically, it was one of many unhappy memories he and John shared. 

“You were so angry when you realised I had followed you?” John looked over, biting his lips to stop a laugh seeping out. 

“What are you getting at John?” Arthur’s droll thick, he was losing his stoicism. 

“I couldn’t work it out at the time what provoked such a reaction, sure you used to beat me for being annoying but you were never that reckless.” John massaged the back of his neck, trying to appear aloof as though he was working some puzzle out, really he wanted to be tortuously slow as he revealed his real intent. 

“Stop John or I will send you over the next cliff edge we come to.” Arthur was too wise to these games not to see the next words coming. 

“Almost killed your little brother because he interrupted your plans, hoping to get your itch scratched by Javier?” John cackled with laughter, thinking he had found the truth behind Arthur’s motivations, his mind elevated by the discovery. Mr Morgan was human after all, as infallible, with needs and desires, not as stoic as he would like to perceived. 

Arthur was having none of it, not willing to admit to himself that his anger that day may have been caused by the interruption. That he secretly hoped that the Mexican was _ that _way inclined. He swiped for the scruff of his neck, John’s agility ducked it and kicked Jezebel, riding fast away for the incensed outlaw. Arthur followed determined to punish the boy, hollering abuse after him. John was finally smart enough to understand Arthur’s truths, through his tells, piecing together the evidence the older man kept hidden so deeply. 

The brown dust of the scorched earth rose around the two mounts and their riders. Every time Arthur grew closer, John would take evasive action; Jezebel might not be built for speed but like her owner she had agility. At the last moment John turned right as Arthur carried on left. The older man was slow to react, by the time he turned Boadicea to retrace his tracks, John was too far to catch, nearing the town of Rhodes, it was not seen as civil to race through on a horse. 

John hitched Jezebel at the general store before Arthur arrived. The inscrutable glare of the older man made him chuckle, his gambler hat providing the shadow that made the piercing blue seem otherworldly. He would pay one way or another, he knew the punishment he wanted but couldn’t be sure if that is what he would get. Heading back to the gang meant the lovers were no longer the predominant role they would play to each other. As Brothers, John was due a kicking, he still smiled, thinking of all the inappropriate things he could whisper in the outlaw's ear as he beat him. 

“Look at you two, if I didn’t know any better, I would say he wanted to kill you John?” Mary-Beth rolled with laughter. 

“I do" Arthur growled, hitching Boadicea next to Jezebel. 

“It's part of his charm” John shrugged, shooting a glance over to Arthur. Mary-Beth cooed with excitement, recognising the fire within his molten eyes was pure love. 

“We have just come to say Good-Bye Mary-Beth, we are going back to St Denis.” She frowned, disappointed to be losing the pair of them when they were having such fun together. 

John wrapped his arms around her giving her a playful hug. Arthur was more reserved, kissing her on the cheek. 

“Here, your chapter. It was really good!” he passed her the scrolled up piece of paper. 

“Oh that, I have shelved that for the moment, I have a new inspiration, a story of unrequited love.” Arthur’s left eyebrow rose, remembering John’s admission that they had kissed, whilst he trusted John was not so sure about Mary-Beth. 

“Not me you idiot, you two!” she giggled. 

“Nothing unrequited about our love.” Arthur declared, dipping his gambler as soon as he said it. John smirked, his eyes lit up, catching Mary-Beth’s as they both rolled with laughter. 

“I can’t let you two go, who will be my muse, my inspiration, my entertainment?” She rested her hand on her forehead, as a faux performance. 

“You would make a fine actress miss.” Arthur chortled. 

“Come with us Mary-Beth” John grabbed both her hands bending to meet her eye. “The gang will love you and we both know you can contribute.” 

Arthur shook his head, wishing he had curated the situation better. He liked Mary-Beth, respecting her aptitude towards the craft. Her youth concerned him, where he and John didn’t have much choice, Mary-Beth didn’t need to commit herself to a life of crime, she could chose to live well, become a writer. 

He was sure the answer would be yes, her young mind would be caught up in the romanticism. He wanted to slap John for being so naive but deep down was sure there was no nativity in the offer. John wanted the girl to join them to have a reminder of Beth. Using the girl to lessen his grief. 

Arthur made the same mistake once, seeking solace in a young Eliza when Mary broke his heart. His stomach turned, the similarities was too much, was John doomed to make the same mistakes as Arthur, live his life as mirror image of his own. He was lost in his thoughts as the pair danced merrily, Mary-Beth was joining the gang. 


	36. The Plan

He spied the spot from atop a craggy outcrop, his binoculars focussed on a piece of track where the dirt road crossed over, it was perfect. The train miles away from civilisation, a good hour away from St Denis, could be stopped, unloaded and all of them getaway to safety before it would even be missed. All they needed was something capable of stopping a train. He handed the binoculars to Javier who had come along to scout with him. 

“What do you think?” he drawled. 

“Going to need something big to stop it.” Javier alluded to what Arthur had already considered. 

“Big and explosive” he responded having already considered the options, rubbing the dust off his denims as he made his way back to the plateau above them. 

“There is an oil well north of here. Carts full of oil go back and forth every day, if we steal one of them to park in front of the train, the driver would have to have a death wish not stop.” Javier nodded in agreement. 

They mounted their horses and began the drive north; it was a simple plan but as usual required a level of danger. These oil men and their greed meant their fields and carts were heavily guarded. They reached north of the heartlands with the sun on their backs, having stopped briefly for some food. The cliffs were used as cover for their recognisance as they timed each arrival and departure, it was pretty consistent. 

“Force or patience?” Javier enquired. 

“You know me patience and then force if it doesn’t work.” Arthur watched as the carts left, heading in opposite directions. “Might be that we are doing this the wrong way around?” He rubbed the stubble on his chin, thinking. 

“What do you mean?” Javier questioned. 

“Well, rather than storming the fort, might be easier if we just follow one of these carts to their chosen destination. Wait for the driver to leave it and then we can be off before anyone notices or gets hurt.” Javier patted him on the back. “Patience it is then Arthur.” 

They departed, following a cart that was riding west to Valentine, keeping their distance so not to alert the driver and his gun. 

“What do think of John’s new girl?” Javier enquired, filling the void with chit-chat. 

“Mary-Beth, she seems nice enough, God knows what she sees in John.” Javier chuckled. Passing Mary-Beth off as John’s lover was the girl's idea, a rather astute one at that, when she pointed out the state of John’s neck would have to be explained. He was not a subtle lover. 

What they didn’t plan for was everyone to believe it so willingly. Susan making Dutch share with Hosea so the love birds could have their privacy. It was a competition between Dutch and John who was most horrified by the suggestion, Dutch won, just, chewing a wasp as he grumbled reluctantly in agreement. Lucky for all involved it would only be for a few days, the gang planning to leave St Denis and be back out in the wilderness before they hit the train, that was the next task, find somewhere to camp. 

“Yeah, I don’t know something don’t sit right?” Javier mopped his brow, the sun still hot in the sky. 

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, perplexed. Mary-Beth was far too innocent to be perceived as a danger. 

“Well, from the state of his neck she appears to be a rather passionate young woman, yet I haven't heard a peep out of that room in since they occupied it.” Arthur glared at him mainly as it was rather an astute observation if not a little unwelcome. 

“Perhaps they are being quiet out of respect. Not everyone wants to hear the caterwauling you and Sean manage when you bring someone back.” Arthur chortled. 

“John quiet?” Javier’s eyebrow rose. 

“Well maybe they don’t want to engage in those kinds of activities around the gang, lord knows I carry out my business away from you gossiping fish wives.” Arthur tried to defend the relationship best he could. 

“I don’t know, always thought John was an invert.” Arthur’s jaw dropped at the disclosure from his fellow outlaw. Javier squinted realising he was walking on thin ice. “Not that there is anything wrong with it if he is, just always came across like he was.” 

“John ain’t no invert, he was in love with Beth for years.” Arthur drew a sharp breath, remembering the lovely Beth. 

“Yes, I suppose, he was also in love with you.” Arthur dipped his Gambler to hide his blushing cheeks. Having never felt so exposed, Javier was getting close to the truth without even trying. How could he have been so dense not to see it when others did. 

“I do not know what to say Javier, I think you have been reading too many romantic novels.” He forced a laugh, trying to use his humour to deflect from the awkwardness. 

“Laugh at it if you want, don’t stop it from being true, that boy is in love with you, always has been and always will be. It is poor Mary-Beth I feel sorry for, not exactly the fairy tale romance she will be hoping for.” The cart pulled into Valentine, pulling up to one of the loading sheds, this was their opportunity. As both men departed to speak with the recipient of the oil, Arthur moved lightly to the front of the cart. He caressed the main of the horses, cooing gently as he led them step by step away from the loading shed entrance. It appearing like they were wandering on their own rather than being led. Javier slowly led another horse and cart to the position where the oil cart had been. It would make those inside think nothing had changed as the sounds of horses nickering would assure them. Arthur turned the oil cart, it was slow moving, this was not going to be a quick escape. With both horses facing the right direction, he and Javier jumped on, a quick lash and roar and the cart began to move, 

“Stop” came a shout. “Thief.” Naturally both men pulled up their bandannas to hide their faces. Javier took the reigns as Arthur unsheathed his revolver, ready for a fight. 

“I am warning you boy, you shout again and your brains are going to paint that shed.” The young man gulped, the intimidating glare of those frozen eyes removing his ability to speak. It was too late; the thunderous gallop of horses roared around the corner of the shed. Paid oil guards clearly had been tracking behind the wagon too. 

“Move Javier, we gotta get out of here.” Arthur poised for the sudden whip of the horses as they bolted forwards. He aimed his revolver, not yet ready to kill, aiming his first few shots at hands and legs. One hit the horse, sending it bolting over, the rider dismounting awkwardly bringing down the two horses behind it. Arthur’s smile sardonic concealed under his bandanna. “woah hoa, should have seen that shot Javier.” 

“Don’t celebrate just yet, there is more on the ridge.” Arthur turned to see four riders depart their post, their pace far outmatching that of the oil cart. He took a deep intake of breath, on release he shot one in the head, followed by two more in the torso. The last stopped of his own accord, Arthur studying him in case balls suddenly grew back, they did not. 

“Jesus, that was close. Where we taking this thing.” Javier shouted to be heard over the panting of the horse. “There is a camp south of Rhodes I want to check out, here ill drive.” 

They arrived at the camp overlooking Flat Iron lake quite late. It was perfect, close enough to the train robbery but secluded enough that they wouldn’t be seen. They hid the oil cart in the thick foliage and then set up a camp for the evening, the fire keeping them warm as they rolled out their bed mats 

“So, what you going to do?” Javier's voice was soft, clearly ready for sleep. 

“About what?” Arthur didn’t bother to look up, too engrossed in drawing a half dozing Javier. 

“About John?” Javier rolled to his side, eyeing the outlaw and getting very little back. 

“Don't see that there is much I can do, if the boy loves me, he got a funny way of showing it?” Arthur’s stomach turned, so many lies, now he was lying about the lie that was meant to conceal the truth that he and John both loved each other. 

“Do you feel the same way?” Javier’s tone quizzical. Arthur had always been hard to read, much harder than John. 

“I don’t know, what I do know is if you breathe a word of this to anyone in the gang then I will make sure you disappear.” Javier knew he was getting close to the truth of it all, it was the only time Arthur made threats. 


	37. A New Home

The caravan moved slowly out of St Denis, through Lemoyne and setting up to the south, residing at the shoreline of the lake. For a glorious moment Arthur’s heart sang, his family finally returning to the natural world, where they belonged. Miss Grimshaw curated their arrival, everyone had their job and woe betide anyone who didn’t complete their task with gusto and enthusiasm. 

The son, the brother, the father and the lover took on more than anyone else, as was his nature, determined to make their new home everything they needed. Wanting his family to settle into happiness, to remember what made them good. To end the lying and deceit and return to the simplicity they once loved. Back to a time when a nicely cooked meal made from the meat Arthur hunted was the main event of their day. 

When he was sure most of the grunt work was done, he requested permission from Susan to go hunting. He caught a turkey, plump and round, plucking it and binding it ready for the spit. He dug some yams and herbs ready for the feast. His favourite time of the whole day was sitting down to prepare the meal. He managed the fire; Susan prepared the bird and Hosea mixed the herbs. All in silence, no words needed to be spoken, as this was a habitual practice, one they all cherished. 

As the wafting smell of roast turkey and herbs invaded the furthest reaches of the camp, the rest of the family joined them. Bringing beer, whiskey, bread and levity. As they sat, table full of food being passed around, Arthur mused that it was like the last supper. Dutch sat in the middle as his disciples enjoyed the merriment of the occasion. Laughter, music, raucous debate filled the crisp night evening, like a chorus of evensong. 

_ This was family, as it should be _. Arthur spent a few moments aloof and circumspect, imbibing the intoxicated presence of their being. He wouldn’t change one of them, foibles, whit, morons, cantankerous old fools, all were welcome. Tomorrow they would try and rob a train, with Government payroll and bonds. Their most dangerous escapade yet. On the turn of a screw their whole world could change. He respected that, willing to soak in every second so he could recall this warmth when the darkness closed in. 

John sat between Hosea and Mary-Beth, both engaged in very different conversations. Mary-Beth trying to quiz Grimshaw on the art of cooking. Whilst Hosea and Javier discussed whittling wood. John didn’t mind, his gaze set on his outlaw lover, his stance relaxed, his eyes warm. Every now and again the slightest twitch of a smile crossed his face, the camp fire illuminating his attractive features, as he heard the odd comment that tickled him. Dutch may be their leader, sat in the middle, enjoying the worship of his gang. Arthur was the shepherd, the gang his sheep, currently all accounted for, penned in and happy. As a good shepherd should be, he was more concerned for the safety and welfare of his flock than himself. 

As the booze flowed John felt confident that he could steal a few moments with his cowboy. He took a beer from the table and walked down to the shore line. The water lapped, its lightly crushing waves foaming along the rocks. The moonlight rippled along then water's edge, dispelling the inky darkness of the night sky. After a lifetime of hating water, John felt calm, _this is where they belonged. _

Time passed, John found a rock, resting on it as he nursed his beer. He was willing Arthur to join him but also enjoyed the solitude. He took comfort that they were all back together in the wilderness, space and proximity made them better, as a group, as a gang and as a family. John awoke to his cattle man being tipped off his head. 

“Alright Rip Van Winkle, I can think of more comfortable places to sleep than that rock.” John stretched his legs, his muscles tight from the awkward position he slept in. 

“Was waiting for you.” He mumbled still wrapped up in sleep. 

“Imagine Mary-Beth would have something to say about that?” Arthur scuffed the scree of the shoreline feeling uncomfortable. Not willing to acknowledge their truth so close to their family. 

“Come on, let me get you to bed.” He held his hand which was gratefully received. 

“As long as it is yours.” John plunged his lips crashing into Arthur’s. 

“What are you doing?” The older man growled. “Anyone could see.” 

John’s soul collapsed into a void of rejection. His face was akin to a wounded puppy and whilst silent Arthur could here him whining. The pathetic need of the boy almost broke him, the youngster having never done this before. Compartmentalising ones life so perception and reality were never clearly definable. They could not be lovers, not in camp, but brothers could enjoy a hug. Arthur wrapped his arms around John’s thin frame, pulled him close. His scent had already changed, the smog and filth of St Denis lifting, leaving his natural aroma of burnt wood and pine. Their skin pricked with warmth in the coolness of pre-dawn morning. John ran his hands under the older mans shirt, who instantly responded by backing away. 

“You have to stop John.” Arthur gently chastised him, trying not to upset him. A tear rested in his eye, a flutter of his long black lashes releasing into down his sharp cheek. Arthur had always found the boys vulnerability alluring, recalling the first tear in the bath at Valentine that illuminated his desires towards John. 

“Come on.” Arthur’s large arm pulled John in, allowing his head to rest on his shoulder. He began to walk them back to camp, where most of the family had retired, a little worse for wear from the alcohol. 

“Found him" he called out to fire where Javier and Mary-Beth were chatting.

“Fell asleep by the lake.” John didn’t look up, pretending to be drunk or sleepy, as Arthur guided him through camp. In the darkness he was lowered to his cot, his fingers gripped tightly around the sleeves of Arthur’s shirt, trying to keep his warm muscular torso close. It didn’t work. Arthur’s strength didn’t even notice the grip as he pulled swiftly away. A creeping weight slowly filled his chest as his new reality dawned on him. He would have to return to the years of fallow, where Arthur’s caress only existed in his dreams. He choked a cry at the thought, the feeling so intense it was comparable to grief. 

“Hey, don’t cry.” Arthur’s fingers deftly caressed his cheek, his body quaked not realising the outlaw was still there. 

“Come here.” His lids blinked finding Arthur laid out on his furs. 

“I thought it would be more comfortable than the cot.” He frowned, realising that he wasn’t in his own tent. Scared he would wake and find it a dream, he rolled off the cot into the strong arms of his outlaw, who in return landed soft kisses across his temple. 

“Oh, that not fair!” a shrill squeak disrupted their intimate moment, followed by a hiccup. Mary-Beth’s soft mousey features appeared wrecked, having imbibed too much for her small body to take. John instinctively opened his arms allowing the young girl to crawl into the space. She muzzled his chest, like a cat preparing their favourite cushion. The heat of both of them surrounding him felt natural, secure. Arthur’s rasps purred into his ear, suggesting the older man, as usual, was already asleep. 

“You are so lucky.” Mary-Beth’s large drunken eyes stared up at him knowingly. 

“I know” John croaked, aware that this current set up benefited him the most. Two people who under their supposed criminal exterior sacrificed their own needs and wants for John, to keep him safe and happy. His heart beat sang with gratitude, as he thought about how they could make this three in a bed scenario a more permanent thing. 

“I want what you have.” She purred, kissing his cupid bow lips. Before his mind could react, her body was upon his, straddling his lap, her light weight deceptively stong. He was overwhelmed by a rush of helplessness, the kiss not even registering as every muscle in his body collapsed from the shock. It took seconds for him to acknowledge that her brazenness was due to drink, whilst she displayed confidence now that he was what she wanted, he couldn’t allow it to continue. Regaining control of his arms he pushed her back, finally breaking the sloppy kiss, the moisture settling on their gleaming lips. 

“Don’t you want me” she bleated, unable to hide her disappointment. John’s pupils were wild, unsure how to approach this. Arthur sleeping next to them, it was sinful, perverse, wrong on so many levels. He wanted nothing more than the older man to wake up and deal with the situation, however he saw fit. John only recently understanding his own sexuality was in nowhere expert enough to deal with the flourishing sexuality of this young woman. 

“When you're older.” He said, as he pulled her down to his chest, cradling her head, softly caressing her locks until she finally relinquished and went to sleep. His own muscles released, having tensed the moment their lips touched, feeling the ache consume him, _ perhaps three in a bed was not such a good idea _. Preparing for his own sleep, he glimpsed up at Arthur, whose breath had maintained a steady rhythm throughout the ordeal, the smile of a Cheshire cat dawned his face. 

“Thanks for helping.” John said sardonically aware the older man witnessed everything. 

“Knew you could handle in, you learnt from the best.” He placed a kiss on his neck, wrapped his large piston arms around the pair and returned instantly to sleep. 


	38. The Train Job

Arthur ran through the plan one last time, his voice strong and authoritative always commanding the respect and attention of the gang. His unquestionable knack to tactically walk everyone step by step through their roles, what was required and where he expected them to be. He was ruthless in his judgements and expectations of their capabilities or lack thereof. With a levelled understanding of what would and wouldn't work, no one was stupid enough to question his decisions, except Sean. 

“Why have I got the luggage cart, I would be much better robbing the passengers?” His twang cut intolerably through the tension. 

“No one will know what you are saying, I don’t need confusion, I need clarity.” Arthur folded his arms, his muscular frame rippled with an intimidating force under his short-sleeved shirt. 

“Oh yeah, so that’s Marston is it? Can barely string a sentence together.” Sean clucked with annoyance. 

“Hey!” John responded, proving Sean's point. 

“I don’t need an orator; I need someone who can intimidate quickly.” John beamed with pride, as he always did when Arthur recognised his skills. 

“That streak of piss, he couldn’t intimidate a sweet out a small child's hand.” Sean chuckled to himself. 

“You keep questioning me boy and you will wish your mother lost you at birth.” Arthur roared; everyone fell silent, not used to his domineering voice being used in camp. Mary-Beth visibly flinched having never seen this side of Arthur, the artist had a dark side. 

“I love ya Arthur Morgan.” Sean said slyly, never giving into the older man's authority. Arthur smirked, as irritating as Sean was, he enjoyed sparring with him, having someone so stupid that they would challenge him. 

“There is a bullet in my bandolier with your name on it if you mess this up, you cheeky Irish bastard.” Arthur always had the last word. 

Night began to fall, the tension growing around camp. This was the time when the professionals showed the whites of their eyes, revealing their true nature. Javier was a sitter, hands clenched watching the fire, almost meditating, clearing his mind in preparation. Arthur cleaned his guns, each one was pristine, oiled and ready to go, his hands always needed to be busy. John was a pacer, his nervous skittish energy working its way through his body, when the time came, he would be placid and calm. Sean was chatting up Mary-Beth, he didn’t care that she was supposedly John’s, Sean always needed a perceived reward to come back to, to make it worth coming back. At least Mary-Beth was closer to his own age, when he did it to Grimshaw it made them wretch. John had paced his way out of camp without realising, Arthur noticed as his skinny frame disappeared beyond the tree line. 

“I will get Marston and then we will go.” He said blankly. He stalked the younger man for a bit, not wanting to ignite his nervous energy further. John couldn’t be quiet even on his own, he mumbled and grumbled gibberish as he paced a few steps before turning and repeating the process. 

“You ready?” Arthur called to him. He stopped instantly, looking at the older man, his features were hard. 

“Yeah.” he nodded, before setting off back to camp. Arthur grabbed his arm, his gaze captured John’s, love and fear mingled to reveal a sad warmth. This was going to be a test, neither were sure they could pass. To switch off all feeling and desire to protect each other, to be professional put the job and gang first. Arthur’s hand traced down his torso to his hip. Wanting to pull the man closer, to have an honest embrace. John broke the intimacy, he was not like Arthur, couldn’t switch roles with ease. He spent the day harnessing the energy of his inner outlaw, lover could not get a look in. The older man understood, his skin pricked from the rejection but he knew there was no intent in it. 

They arrived ten minutes before midnight, the train was expected in the next five. Arthur manoeuvred the oil wagon onto the tracks, jumping from the wagon to release the horses. His movements were swift and focussed, his bulk visibly grew dominating the surroundings. 

“Mr Marston, Mr McGuire, Mr Escuella, get over there, board her when she slows.” Arthur slapped the final horse on the rear. 

“What about you?” Sean enquired. 

“I am going to make sure she slows.” Arthur felt the rumble of the train on the tracks, 

“Now get.” His fist commanded the young man away and in one fluid motion he rose to the top of the oil wagon. John peered from his hiding place; his face concealed by his bandana. His molten eyes were on fire watching the rugged outlaw shift his weight retrieving his repeater as he lifted it to his chest. The train light lit up his whole form, it dominated the landscape. Arthur Morgan the only man who can stop a train with his imposing presence. His assertive bulk oozed magnetism, the merest twitch of a muscle commanding the whole scene. It stirred John in a way that was inappropriate, his growing bulge forcing him to look away. He made sure to mentally store the image for later. 

The screech of iron on steel scraped along the tracks, the smell of burning as the train stopped inches from Arthur and the oil wagon. The driver and a few conductors got off still unsure of what was going on. The three outlaws approached each, taking their turn to knock the victim down and tie them up. There was no malice intended, everyone was to be treated as an innocent, unless they crossed the line. 

“Get on the train, we don’t have long.” John was the first to enter, taking the first carriage with passengers on it. 

“Don’t nobody move or I will kill every last one of you.” Arthur smirked, a little too intimidating but the cries of the woman suggested it had the desired effect. Sean entered the luggage compartment, as Javier and Arthur moved towards the last carriage of the train where the payroll was being held. 

“Now we know you are in there; you can come out of your own accord and we will spare your lives.” Arthur hollered a warning, knowing it was unlikely to be heeded. 

“Fair enough.” Arthur rigged a small stick of dynamite to the lock of the carriage door; they both took a swift step back as the explosion ripped the door from its hinges. 

“Don't shoot.” a man shouted; his trembling hands slowly revealed themselves. 

“You have to the count of 3 to get out here or I am coming in shooting.” Arthur roared, they hesitated, as all do in these situations, Arthur’s patience was wearing thin “1.2.3” he shouted in barely a second. 

“No, wait!” the two men alighted in lightning fashion, one fell and rolled on the floor, landing at Arthur's feet. 

“Mr E, would you kindly tie these morons up, they are getting on my last nerves.” Arthur sheathed his repeater pulling out his revolver. Entering the carriage, burning smoke from the dynamite still filled the space, as it cleared in revealed several thick sacks, _ must be the payroll _he thought to himself. He lifted each sack and chucked it out to Javier, who in turn whistled for his horse. They were each going to have to take one on horseback. 

Arthur turned his attention to the safe, it was a simple enough job, just required a level of concentration and silence to crack, he knelt placing his ear against the cold metal so he could hear the clicks. He managed to get the first two pins with ease, his hand had always been a light touch when it came to safe cracking. The third pin was harder to find, as the noise rose from the front carriages. 

“Mr M we have company.” Javier called, as he released a shot from his revolver. Arthur ignored the warning, knowing he was close. The pin clicked and the door swung open. Bonds, a thick wad, enough to fill his satchel. “Mr E, will you kindly retrieve Mr S and Mr J and bring them back to us.” Arthur called, they had more than enough. 

Arthur jumped from the carriage to be greeted by a gunfight, three men on horse driving along passed the train. He shot at the first two, their blood spraying across their clean shirts. He knelt for the third, attempting to get a clean shot. The man was quicker, cocking a shot aiming directly at Arthur, who swerved just enough for the bullet to scrape his shoulder. 

“God damn it” he hollered, the graze of the bullet burning. 

“Gentlemen, it is time to go.” Arthur could see a sea of lanterns crawling towards them over the horizon, a few minutes and they would have more men than the four of them could handle. 

Javier mounted his horse, firing a few shots into the air. “Mr M, I will try and lead them away.” He called out. 

“Be careful” Arthur instructed, as he slapped Javier's horse away with the first sack of cash. 

“Mr S, would you get over here!” Arthur’s patience was about to snap. 

“Ok, I am coming. I think John’s in trouble, I heard gun shots.” Arthur’s muscles tensed. 

“Here, take this, Mr E went that way, I suggest you go the other and try and draw some of these bastards off of us.” Arthur slapped Sean’s horse for good measure. 

“Be careful Arthur, it might be too late.” He cringed, he used his proper name, there was no educating Sean sometimes. Not that it mattered, his heart constricted as he ran towards the front carriages of the train. The odd errant shot could be heard, as gunfire was exchanged, it couldn’t be too late, he boarded a flat bed before the carriage.

“Mr J, talk to me!” he screamed into the night, 

“I am ok, just a bit stuck.” John called out. 

“Where are you?” He tried to see him but there was no sign. 

“Get outta here, you ain’t going to be able to fight all of them.” John’s voice was reticent, accepting his own fate. 

“You know I ain’t leaving you, so suggest a better plan!” Arthur readied his weapons for an all-out gun fight. 

“Alright, you go left and I will go right and we will see where we end up!” The snake of oil lamps reached the clearing, a few of the riders branched off towards Sean and Javier who had let of metronomic shots to draw attention away, but the bulk remained with the train. 

“Mr M!” John called, as the night sky lit up with shots. “You will always be my brother.” Arthur didn’t have a chance to respond to the sentiment. He rose from the crate he was hiding behind, his bulk large and dominant, trying to draw the gunfire towards him and away from John. He filled the air with lead, once the cartridges of his revolver emptied, he pulled the repeater from his shoulder. The ashen smoke of burning shots assaulted his senses, he began to control his pace, feeling the rhythm of his heart, releasing each shot with every exhale of breath. Man, after Man fell, no match for Arthur's superior aim, he began to feel exhilarated as the numbers reduced. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, the odd intake of breath and the click of his beloved weapons as they massacred the oncoming assault. 

Those who survived regrouped and charged for a second time, Arthur was alive, his blood pumping hard around his body as he rose from his position. He moved with a poetic motion, his body fluid, as each step embodied with a tactful elegance, dodging the onslaught of bullets whilst laying waste to those who fired them. It was as the second round dissipated, he noticed John, atop the passenger carriage. He was running toward Arthur as he dodged bullets. Several men rose up behind him, giving chase as the shot round after round at him. Arthur drew his rifle, the only weapon he possessed the range required. He began to shoot at the men but John was too close and in the way. 

“Duck you idiot!” he roared. He hit the train roof, as Arthur made quick work of those following him. His face creased with a focus and fury matched only by the Greek gods as they handed out punishments. 

Silence fell. Arthur quickly scanned the horizon, the coast appeared clear. John rose with trepidation, kneeling, as his eyes darted completing his own check. “Whoa ho, that was close.” he said standing, placing his cattleman back on his head. A singled crack rang out, Arthur instantly shot towards the direction of the smoke where the shot had been released, allowing his reflexes to guide him. 

“We need to get out of here!” his gaze returned to his partner, who was nowhere to be seen. 

“John!” Arthur called out. “John!” he screamed again, his throat constricting as the terror rose in him. A crescendo of bullets rained down on him, he was blocked, hiding behind the crate unable to move. His grey eyes erratically searched the darkness trying to get sight of him, his ears tuned to hear the slightest whine. He bit his fist hard, enough to draw blood, he couldn’t stay, there were too many of them as another round of bullets slammed into the side of the open carriage he was hiding on. Another group of riders' must have flanked the north side of the train and were now pooling, intent on blood. 

Arthur waited for a moment of calm, the men reloading. He jumped the rail of the train, keeping his bulk small, intentionally landing in the dirt, determined to keep his vitals covered from any errant bullets. He scanned the ground one last time but the darkness was all consuming, if John was there, he couldn’t see him. He whistled for Boadicea, who dutifully rode at pace towards him. He grabbed the stirrup as she raced passed him, as was the case so many times the trusted mount knew to keep going even though he was not seated. Arthur remained alongside her flank for as long as possible, in the hope the horse would be written off as a stray, he grabbed the third bag of payroll as she flew past and then lifted himself up. 

A roar of hooves followed, he knew this was going to be tight. He pulled his revolver, flicking the chamber, he hadn’t reloaded. He reached into Boadicea's saddle pulling out his sawn-off, it was not ideal, the range of the weapon meant he would have to conserve his shots until they were close, whilst they had free reign to lay hell fire upon him. 

His prized mare out did herself, tearing up the countryside, bobbing and weaving like a prized fighter, trying her hardest to lose their pursuers. He eventually got his bearings. There were four riders chasing him across the field. None seemed go be giving up, their mounts driven by pack mentality. 

Arthur raced towards a mound, he needed higher ground if he was going to pull off his ambitious move. This was guts and glory or a quick death, he couldn’t chose which he preferred because he didn’t know if John was dead or alive. Boadicea reached the mound, he grinded her to a holt, the mare rearing in reaction. Her sleek frame glistening in the moonlight. The sight momentarily threw the four riders. Arthur took the opportunity to fire two shotgun rounds. The first tore through the chest of the nearest, he fell limp on his horse. The second was a head shot, the bone of the skull shattering like the finest China smashing on a stone floor. Arthur dropped the shotgun and pulled the repeater from his back, in a swift movement it was resting under his shoulder, he fired with abandon, until nothing moved. His rage and ferocity removing his sense. The mutilated bodies of the riders scattered around him. 

“Arthur!” Javier hollered “Arthur, they are dead!” the sound of gun shot ceased, his cruel grey eyes caught Javier's sending a shiver of ice up his spine. 

“We need to get out of here Arthur.” Javier prompted. 

“You go, I need to find John.” Arthur’s tone was deflated and cold. 

“Where is he Arthur?” Javier choked, scared of the answer. Arthur didn’t respond, he threw the sack of money at the man. He clicked for Boadicea to ride on. The Mexican watched as the moonlight swallowed the silhouette of the man. Javier would have to return to the gang and tell them news, John was missing suspected dead. 


	39. Aftermath

Javier and Dutch tracked Arthur to Roanoke Ridge. He was half starved, being without food for three days. The cold already set in his bones, his body shaking uncontrollably and was potentially turning into a worrying fever. They tried to get him up and back to the safety of camp. He lashed out with the last few dying embers of energy, missing both men and stumbling to the muddy ground. 

“Leave me be, I want to die.” he mumbled. 

“Arthur don’t say that!” Dutch's face creased with concern. He wasn’t prepared to reacquaint himself with this boy who he visited them many times over the years. His spectre stalked closely, deftly breaking the stoic nature of his son, leaving him exposed and weak. Arthur’s heartbeat pumping every emotion, feeling the whole world all at the same time, all its misery and pain, its joy and beauty. It overwhelmed him, as it would anyone who found their defences destroyed, leaving him with the only rational answer in his mind, death. Each time it would be a little more severe, Eliza and Isaac were the worst, as they should be. Dutch finding him on a cliff edge, pleading with him not to jump, begging him to stay. Annabelle was second, her death caused a prolonged spiral but that was laced with guilt for both of them. 

Dutch bound his wrists for safety and pulled him up on the Count, his bulky frame was diminished sitting in front of the older man. His vulnerable state reminding him of the emaciated youth they saved all those years ago. Boadicea, ever loyal, followed behind them, her coat dirty and hair tangled had clearly been through an ordeal with her owner. Javier confirmed, no sooner had Arthur gone to find John, a pack of hounds picked up his scent, he must have spent most of the past three days trying to lose them, hence the state they found them in. Thankfully, the tracks of the hounds are what led them to Arthur, Javier being a natural tracker. Dutch lamented, Arthur, his Arthur would never allow Boadicea to be in such a condition if he was thinking clearly. 

“Let's get you home son, I promise you it will all be better in the morning.” Dutch’s voice was tinged with emotion, his boys couldn’t die, _ what would he have left _ _ ? _

As predicted, Arthur gained a fever. Susan nursed him, a cold compress to cool his temperature, extra blankets when he shivered. Her constant vigil, a welcome distraction, not yet ready to process her own feelings of loss, the son she never had, now gone. She cried most nights, in his delirium he called out for the one thing she couldn’t give him, _their__ fool_, John Marston. 

Hosea being the only one who was not involved in the train robbery had travelled all over Lemoyne, trying to get some understanding of what happened to John. The robbery site cleared of corpses, were taken to Rhodes for identification and burial. Hosea requested a viewing, believing John was amongst them. The undertaker interjected, those yet to be claimed were too badly mutilated to be viewed, so belongings would have to do. Hosea nodded, returning to the undertakers to be presented with two tables of items. The items were meagre, nothing of note that could distinguish one from the other, a sad showing for so many lives. He scanned over the materials, a money clip with two dollars, a leather glove, _was any of this going to identify anyone?_

He scanned further up the table and then he saw it, a worn black cattleman. He picked it up and studied it, it was John’s hat, the one Arthur had given him. Hosea was too long in the tooth to believe the worst, hats flew off all the time in gun fights, it could have landed next to a victim and been mistaken. Resting under the hat was something he wished he hadn't seen, its colour concealed mostly by dust and mud. He wailed as he touched it, the confirmation, John’s black Onyx watch, so distinctive, it could only be his. The undertaker placed a hand on his shoulder, the nurturing touch of someone who had seen a life time of grief and hurt. 

“We can prepare the body for burial; it will have to be a closed casket; would you like him in the church yard?” His tone was soft and caring. 

“No, we are not from these parts, the family will want to take him home. How soon can you have him ready?” Hosea wiped his eyes with his silk handkerchief, even in grief he had the poise and control of a gentleman. 

“Give me a few days, if you are travelling far will need to make sure he is prepared properly.” Hosea nodded and shook the man's hand in gratitude. 

Sean dutifully waited for the older man outside, having driven the cart into town. Being relatively new to the gang he didn’t have the same bond with John but he recognised this would hit them all hard. He greeted the man with a solemn nod, having heard Hosea cry-out, he was sure it was John. 

“Mr Matthews, I am sorry for your loss.” Hosea didn’t respond. Sean not good with silences continued. “My ma always used to say _ "Death leaves a heartache no one can heal; Love leaves a memory no one can steal." _ Hosea blinked, the sentiment was touching and certainly not something he came to expect from Sean, _ god bless his ma. _

_ “ _Thank you, Sean, but I am not going to be the one that struggles most with this.... Arthur...” Hosea trailed over unable to comprehend how he was going to tell him. 

“Don't be worrying too much about Arthur, he has that fever to get over first.” Hosea bulked in response, whilst accurate it was a curt and cruel observation to make. Sean realised how his words could be misconstrued, 

“I didn’t mean it like that, I meant while the big man is down with the fever, we should do what we can to get everything ready. That way when he comes around, he doesn't have to think about it. You know Arthur he always takes on too much.” Hosea nodded in agreement. Arthur’s nature was always to keep busy and run himself into the ground. The family should take the weight, allowing him the time and space to mourn, he wouldn’t take it but the gesture was there. Secretly Hosea was grateful for Arthur’s incapacitation, it meant he could prepare the funeral arrangements, something he felt compelled to do for his son. 

The confirmation of the cattleman and Onyx watch changed everything. Susan, hair dishevelled, bags already resting thick under her pinched eyes, collapsed. Javier and Sean carried her to her bed, Hosea administering a potent cocktail to keep her rested. Mary-Beth took over the vigil of Arthur, his temperature still high. The heavy wheezing chest of the older man was a broken beat that allowed her to grieve silently. Not wanting the rest of the family to challenge her right to mourn, having only known John for a few weeks. Dutch retreated to his tent, closing it, his classical music filled the air, the sad operatic tones concealing the older man's sobs. 

Arthur woke, his chest tight, he felt like he’d been hit by a train, for a moment he questioned _ what happened? _His eyes darting as his mind sort clarity. It all came crashing in around him, the pain of a thousand-gunshot wounds that wouldn’t allow death to take him. In the darkness, he could make out a small frame, female, he suspected Mary-Beth from the gentle barely audible breaths, Susan snored. He rose slowly, making sure not to disturb her. Outside of his tent the camp was a murmuring of sleep, along with the chirps of Crickets and Cicada, it was peaceful. Arthur detected the light rhythm of orchestral instruments, it was Dutch, still awake. Dutch struggled with sleep at the best of times, in grief, he wouldn’t succumb at all for the first few days. Their leaders mind too wired, like he was trying to bend time and undo the pain, that was his arrogance or his madness. 

Arthur unaware of how long he’d been out for had shelved his anger towards their leader. There were times when he was on the run that he thought nothing more that strangling the life out of that thick neck, blaming Dutch’s hubris for John’s death. It was only in the delirium of his illness that calmed him; he was not the only one to have felt the crippling pain of loss. Annabelle, her death was all encompassing, Dutch could have killed Arthur but he didn’t. For all the water that passed between them, they were still bonded by their secrets, still understood each other better than anyone else. They were bad men that deserved to be stuck with each other for eternity. 

“Dutch” Arthur called over to the older man, sat in his chair, cigar in his mouth, his eyes fixed on the Persian rug. The sorrow swirled in his black coal iris’, a grimaced ache of loss spasmed across his face, as he filtered out the noise in his head and noticed his son, his favourite. 

“My son, you’re awake” an unexpected tear rolled down his cheek, he let it land on his lapel unchecked. He did not fear showing weakness in front of Arthur, the boy’s soul such that he welcomed vulnerability as a sign of truth and honesty. 

“Mmmm" Arthur entered the tent without being asked. Sitting on the cot, not willing to take his usual space on his miniature wooden stool. He reached for the half-drunk bottle of whisky, pouring himself a glass. Dutch raised an eyebrow, he hadn’t eaten for days, his stomach wouldn’t appreciate hard liquor. Arthur ignored him, a bit more pain wasn’t going to change anything. The honey liquor burned, he poured another. 

“Where is he?” he gasped slightly at the liquor hit his empty stomach. 

“Let me get you some food.” Dutch stood up, his wrist suddenly encased with a clammy firm hand. His gaze captured by the stern blue eyes of the outlaw, barely concealing his sorrow. 

“He is in Rhodes, Hosea found him.” Dutch reached for the table, passing over the cattleman, the watch resting inside. 

Arthur briefly consumed the items, caressing them gently in his shaking hands. Remembering the moments shared when he gifted them. The cattleman given to match his new clothes from Javier, the clothes long out grown and torn, the hat remained. His watch, bonded them together, the wolf and the stag under a silver moon. 

“I want him buried with these.” He said plainly. The grief quelling his drawl making his voice flat. 

“I’ll send Hosea in the morning.” Dutch confirmed. 

“No, I will go, I want to see him.” Dutch drew a sharp breath, not wanting to tell him. 

“He isn’t in a decent state.” Arthur frowned and relaxed back into the cot. 

“I didn’t see him fall.” He admitted, unable to confirm what happened. 

Dutch bejewelled hand landed on the youngers knee attempting to keep him compos and in the moment with him. 

“There is no point in dwelling on the moment he was taken from us, let’s just remember the times we had with him.” Arthur wasn’t ready to reminisce, it was still too raw. 

He led back on Dutch's bed, always more comfortable than his own. He held his arms out to his leader, needing the closeness of his bulk to reassure him that this life was still worth living, he really wasn’t sure anymore. Dutch allowed it, his body slipping under Arthurs, his light blonde hair resting on his chest. He caressed his hair as he used to do when they were lovers. This time was different, not driven by a burning desire but the realisation that life had kicked them both, hard, all they had left was each other. 


	40. Eternity in the Stars

Arthur didn’t want a cross, not for John. The boy had no leanings towards the Lord, Arthur wasn’t sure if he’d ever stepped foot in a church. John’s grave would be everything John was, hard and soft, dark and light, not subtle or nuanced. A beautiful visual cacophony of all the wonders and abundance nature had to offer. Like John it will change with the seasons, Sage, Orchids, Thyme, Evergreen Huckleberry. They would all bloom and blossom at different times, always making the location known to those who needed to know. For the rest of society, the ones who never wanted the precious John Marston, it would be no more than a collection of exotic blooms. 

He set about planning where to locate all the plants he needed. It would take a couple of days, perhaps some more if he got lost, especially in his own mind. Solitude was the catharsis that he needed to mourn his lover, the one part of the boy he could not acknowledge freely in front of his family. Arthur retrieved the hat and watch from their leaders’ tent, handing them personally to Hosea, not trusting Dutch to remember. 

“Can you get the watch fixed; I want him to tell time in the afterlife.” Hosea took the belongings. 

“Is there much need to tell time in the great beyond?” Hosea unclasped the watch, checking the mechanisms, they were water damaged. 

“You know he ain’t no good at keeping time, he might miss us when we arrive.” Hosea smiled warmly, thinking of when they would all be together again. 

“Then the watch will be fixed” He closed the latch and placed it in his pocket. 

“Where are you going that you can’t get it fixed yourself?” Hosea's crooked eyebrow rose with suspicion. 

“Things to do.” A wry smile crossed the old mans face, even in grief Arthur couldn’t sit still. 

“He won’t let you go, not after what happened last time.” Hosea nodded towards Dutch's tent, their leader dozing in his cot, exhausted from the lack of sleep. Arthur grimaced at the inference, the day he almost ended it all, unable to cope with the loss of Isaac and Eliza. Dutch saved him; Dutch was always saving him when in mattered. 

“Used to think we were cursed with our women dying, thought John was going to be part of our curse. Four miserable bastards doomed to spend eternity together.” Arthur paused for a moment, Bessy, Annabelle, Eliza and Beth, all gone. 

“Now I realise it is just us three cursed, can’t keep our women, can’t keep our sons.” He hadn’t spoken much in the three days since returning, his sickness preventing him, Hosea wished him to still be mute. _ When did he get so bad at this _ _ ? _, Drawing their morose reality in intricate detail, a constant reminder of their unending suffering. 

“I have already lost my son, nothing in the world comes near to that pain.” He felt guilt over the admission, as important as John was, losing him was nothing compared to losing Isaac. 

“It is you two experiencing the death of a son for the first time.” He tipped his gambler, unhitched Boadicea and left before Dutch woke. 

Arthur embraced the ocean of peace he felt roaming the wilderness with Boadicea. Her thick black mane returned to its sleek beauty, after a few hours of tender care from her owner. They rode all day, meandering through meadows, rapidly crossing rivers, hiking over hill tops, climbing canyons, all for John, his last act for the boy. The breeze rose and fell, wrapping its weakening warmth around the pair. Rain and drizzle would arrive slowly and leave quickly, ushering the most marvellous rainbows and blinding sunshine as its beams lit each drop of dew. Beauty thrived without him. 

Each night they would camp out under the stars, the stark cloudless nights burnt cold with the chill of the coming winter. The night-time canopy had always been special to Arthur, finding solace in the majesty of the constellations, each one greater than any existence on earth. A reminder that life was fleeting, love was brief, and eternity awaited them all in the great beyond. 

He allowed the memories to flood over him. The most potent and recurring was the first time they left Beth, John knocked sideways by the sensation from losing his virginity or so Arthur thought at the time. Initially he took him for a wander to shake the giddiness from his legs. After a while it was clear he was in no fit state to return to home, Susan would skin Arthur taking him to a whore. Instead they set up a small one-man tent, north east of Valentine, at Cattail pond. Arthur had an ulterior motive, there were legendary animals in the area, he wanted John’s birthday to be every promise they made to each other. Lose his virginity, start hunting legendary animals, protect him forever. 

He set up the campsite, rolled out the bed rolls near the fire, wanting them to settle under the stars before retiring to the tent. John was compliant, following the outlaws lead without question. His skinny frame fit perfectly in his muscular torso. Arthur blushed as he inhaled the erotic aroma of John and Beth’s early exertions, it was woody with an unusually familiar smell of oil, he frowned, unsure how oil came into the equation. They both stared up at the constellations, Arthur was far more knowledgeable with the setting than John. The younger having camped out many times had never shown any interest, was now mesmerised by their beauty. 

“What are they called?” he asked innocently. 

“There are too many to name all of them, but I can tell you the ones important to me.” John's head jarred to gaze at the outlaw, his crystal eyes alive with joy. Arthur enchanted by the boys newly found calmness, revealed a part of him no one knew. 

“When I lose someone important, I believe they find their place in the stars. When night comes, we can be together again.” Arthur gestured to the glorious canopy of starts 

“Is that why you stay out of camp?” Arthur smirked, the boy had always been observant, making connections based on vague information, so in tune. Sometimes he noticed things that no one else did, even the individual who lived it. 

“Yes, I leave my day family to spend time with my night family.” John smirked, Arthur Morgan half day and half night. Arthur clasped his hand, winding their fingers together, with his index hooked in, he traced a cross along four stars. 

“That is my mother she is Cygnus, the majestic swan, the northern cross, Cygnus gained its place in the stars for devotion, she was a devoted mother while I had her.” John felt a tingle descend his spine, his muscles twitched, overwhelmed by the intensely thoughtful memorial for the woman who gave him Arthur. He traced another shape with their fingers, 

“Ursa major, she-bear, that is Eliza. The Gods put her and her son Ursa Minor in the sky.” He smiled up to them. 

“Isaac?” John asked breathlessly. 

“Isaac” he confirmed. “Ursa Minor includes Polaris, the biggest star, the north star. Any time I am lost and need to find my way home, I look to my boy and he guides me.” A tear descended down John’s cheek, he quickly rubbed it away hoping the older man would not notice. 

“Which one would you be?” John asked, trying to deflect away from his own growing emotion. 

“Orion the hunter, obviously, giant and supernaturally strong, like me.” He chuckled as he said it, knowing John would chastise him for his hubris. The boy remained silent. Arthur rubbed his neck, capturing his doe eyes with his warm gaze, ushering him to speak his thoughts. 

“I wish I had someone who loved me so much they would put me in the stars when I die.” The softness of the sentiment crushed Arthur, the boy still didn’t think he was worthy of love. 

“I would say you were Lupus but we need to be much further south to see it properly. In the summer its sits on the horizon but you have to squint.” Arthur squeezed his hip, “If you did go before me, I would want to see you as much as I could.” John smiled, Arthur would remember him, would want to see him. 

“If I chose one for you in would be Canis Major.” Arthur traced the constellation with their fingers. 

“What does that mean?” he asked gulping a breath. 

“Large dog.” Arthur chuckled. 

“I don't what to be a mutt!” His childhood whine cut the atmosphere. 

“Yeah its offensive to dogs, you smell worse than a wet one.” Arthur jumped to his feet, lifting the boy with ease, placing him on his shoulder. 

“You need a wash.” Arthur walked them with ease to the pond. 

“No Arthur!” he struggled with little success. “Not in my new clothes, they will be ruined!” He rolled his eyes, the youngster was right, Grimshaw would lynch them both if the outfit was ruined. 

“Fine, I will put you down if you promise to strip and wash.” Arthur held him tightly waiting for confirmation. 

“Only if you do it too?” John negotiated. 

“When have I ever not gone in with you, you can’t swim idiot.” Arthur smirked again, glad to receive the invitation, the incident after their last bathing session still raw and slightly unresolved. 

They stripped quickly, both running into the pond at pace, desperate to hide their intimate areas under the water. John was excitable until he hit the depths of the pond, his feet unable to touch the floor, he yelped in panic. Arthur reached over, pulling his skinny frame close to his own. 

“Old enough to lie with a woman, should be old enough to learn how to swim.” He raised an eyebrow as John’s arms and legs wrapped tightly around his torso. 

“Not tonight, I am too tired.” John yawned, resting his head in the crook of the older man’s neck. Arthur manoeuvred the tired boy to his hip, so they could continue to gaze at the stars together. 

“Canis is no mutt, he is Orion’s hunting dog, blessed because of his speed. They will spend eternity together by each others side.” Arthur landed a kiss on his forehead, hoping the inference was understood. “Canis is also special like Ursa Minor, it has Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky.” He gazed down in hope, John would understand what he meant to Arthur, a gentle rasp of a snore confirmed John hadn’t heard any of it. 

Boadicea nickered breaking his memories, returning him to isolation, a steady flow of tears descended his cheeks as the full extent of his grief started to control his body. 

“You are in the stars now John, you look after them for me.” He allowed himself be taken, his body keening as he gasped for air. His sobs so full and endless he thought he would die, almost wished for it, everyone he loved died in the end. 


	41. All the colour turns to grey

“Where have you been!” Dutch screeched at Arthur as he hitched Boadicea. He pulled the collection of plants he gathered from her back, walking past Dutch with indifference. Then he saw it. A wooden box, its plainness concealing the beautiful soul which lay entombed in its nailed walls. He froze, the crease along his forehead betraying the weight of the pain in his heart.

Too much time had passed to consider opening it up, the heat of the southern state would not be kind to the flesh, he shook the thought. He began to weave the plants and flowers into a wreath. Its size grew and grew, Arthur adept and knowing which flowers belonged where. The other group of plants would be planted at the grave.

“Arthur” Hosea placed a hand on his sons’ shoulder. “The undertaker had already sealed the coffin before I could get the watch fixed.” Hosea passed him a small wooden box, the newly fixed watch inside. "We can still bury it with him." Arthur took the box and placed it on the coffin. “We’ve been talking and thought about taking him up north.” Arthur shook his head.

“He didn’t like the cold. There is a place near Valentine, near Cattail lake, near Beth.” Hosea nodded, made sense and was a bit closer than north. He retreated to Dutch's tent relaying the message.

Arthur spent hours building the tribute of flowers. Susan tried feeding him, a few morsels past his lips but nothing substantial. Javier meandered pass, dropping a beer near to the outlaw, he uttered something in Spanish. “_El amor es como el agua que no se seca.”_ Arthur barely versed in English didn’t register its meaning or significance.

The light of the crisp autumnal day began to fade, the creeping acknowledgment that winters icy grip would soon be upon them. The gang was now secure, the take from the train robbery would comfortably see them through to spring. They were south, free of the frozen conditions that almost took Hosea from them the year prior. Such security afforded through the sacrifice of their young son John; it was almost biblical. A knowing acceptance befell the group, this was the moment their period of quiet introspective mourning would end and for one last time they will celebrate the life of John, their brother, son and secret lover.

Arthur completed his artistic endeavours by placing a single red rose at the head of the wreath. It was witnessed by the now gathered audience of his family. He stepped back, took a swig of the beer offered earlier and admired his work for a moment. His loose hips turned to face his family; 

“To John" he raised the bottle in honour they in unison repeated back “To John". Javier picked up his guitar strumming a few strings to ensure they were in tune and then he began to play. The others sank into the dulcet tones, the slow softness fitting for the moment. Accepting that he couldn’t change John’s passing, the moment he turned away would haunt his dreams forever, now all he could do was drink and reminisce with his family.

“First bath was immensely entertaining.” Dutch chimed. Arthur rolled up his sleeve showing Sean and Mary-Beth the faded bite mark John left on his arm. As Dutch told them of the great three man struggle to get him to wash.

“First hunting trip.” Arthur rolled his eyes; their first hunting trip was a disaster. John, unable to remain silent for five minutes, scared every animal worth hunting away and then managed to attract a pack of wolves. The family roared with laughter as Hosea told the tale of Arthur and John trying to outpace the wolves, ending up in a river to get away, the pair of them almost drowning because John couldn’t swim. Arthur finally relented, a smirk resting on his face. John would always get then into trouble, he could never stay mad, those terrified doe eyes melting his ice-cold blue ones.

He remained passive and silent as they imbibed and told more outlandish tales, some elaborate and exaggerated to drive laughter, chasing the sorrow away. Arthur wasn’t particularly interested in remembering certain things that hadn’t really happened. Even the moments where they risked their lives wasn’t how he would remember John. His memories were the moments no one else knew about.

The ethereal light of dawn creeping through the darkness, the penetrating light punctuated with bird song. Arthur would stir to find the boy in his arms, his raven black hair stuck to his face, the lids of his eyes flicking as he dreamt, still deep in sleep. Those moments of calm felt natural, like they were born to spend every morning entwined, safe in each others arms. What he would give for one last dawn together.

The whiskey and beer slowly drained as the night crept on. Susan was the first to retire, her dishevelled hair revealing her tipsiness. Sean was next, having to be carried by Javier and Dutch. Hosea and Mary-Beth said his goodnight close to midnight. The crackle of the fire and muted tones of Javier and Dutch chatting, allowed Arthur the peace to rest his eyes, for the first time his mind didn’t think of John.

“Arthur wake up" the bejewelled hand of Dutch rocked his shoulder. He grunted, the haze of drink resting on his sight. The crackle of the fire had died down, the chilly night air nipped at his skin.

“Come on son, time for bed.” Dutch offered a hand which Arthur accepted.

“Who's bed?” Arthur challenged without thinking. Dutch raised an eyebrow; it had been years since the younger man had been that forward. “Come on Dutch, its tradition, someone dies in this gang we always have a roll in the hay.” He was being intentionally flippant, hoping to get a reaction.

“Don’t be so crass” Dutch chastised him, never enjoying his drunken sass. Arthur held up his arms in surrender, not wanting to argue with the older man.

“Let’s not be fools, we both know where this ends up, let’s forgo the whispers of sweet nothings and get on with it.” Arthur’s drunkenness was making him sound crueller than intended, still not fully forgiving Dutch for the calamitous relationship they shared over the years. The beating he received for declaring his love for Dutch, the roughness of their love making since the death of Annabelle, the feelings of rejection, only receiving affection when Dutch was manipulating him. It was all false, a ruse, there was no love but at this moment Arthur didn’t care, there was a John shaped hole and Dutch was all he had to fill it.

“I am sorry for what I have done to you over the years my boy.” He placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Some traditions can be broken, especially if they only cause pain.” Arthur saw the sincerity flash across those coal eyes. His stomach rolled with sickness but he was adept at concealing it.

“I need this Dutch.” Arthur lurched forward capturing his lips in a moist and messy kiss. Dutch pulled back, he studied the outlaw for a moment, unsure whether to proceed. Seeing nothing more than the sad gaze that set in his eyes many years ago, he conceded that they both needed comfort

“I know son, I know”. He placed an arm around Arthur’s broad shoulder and led him to his tent.

Behind the canvas walls Arthur was snarling aggression, his teeth and nails tearing into skin. Dutch knew it was his fault, the passion they once had for each other had turned so dark, he being the one that introduced violence into their relationship. It hurt Arthur, he had hurt Arthur, to the point the ice-cold exterior never melted, not even when Dutch tried to be soft and tender.

Instead, Arthur encouraged him, encouraged it, whatever it was. He would push and push until Dutch had no option but to subdue him, to place his thick fingers around the neck of the man, to choke him until he passed out. To penetrate him whilst unconscious and then watch as he awoke to the assault, those eyes coloured with disgust and disappointment. This was his punishment, Arthur made sure of it. Their intimacy, however fleeting, was a re-enactment of the night Annabelle died, when Dutch broke them, destroyed any love. Arthur may have an itch that needed scratching, for convenience he would sometimes allow Dutch to scratch it, but he would never let the older man forget what he did to him.

Heavy breaths mingled with the cold air as they both came down from the high of ejaculating. Neither having fully enjoyed how they got there. The alcohol mixed with the excursions of their ritual meant Arthur couldn’t be bothered to depart the cot. He shot a glance to the older man confirming that his presence should not be misconstrued as a thawing of relations. The younger cuddled in, finding his spot on the heaving chest of the older man, as they both let sleep take them.


	42. Heaven is missing an Angel

“I must be in heaven as I keep seeing angels.” His mouth was dry and claggy like he’d eaten a handful of sand. 

“Seeing heaven on earth is a wonderful thing or a sign you are dying” The sister handed him a glass of water. His muscles screamed with stiffness as he tried to sit up. His nursing Angel, Rose, took the movement as an invitation to sit on the bed with him. 

“You madam, you should be out playing with the other children and leaving Mr Marston alone.” The Sister pinched her nose playfully, she scrunched her face in protest. The presence of the young man trapped in bed was enthralling, she watched from afar for a few days until he regained consciousness. Her confidence grew around him, with his encouragement they had taken to reading books together, children's book but still John was glad of the distraction. He delicately lifted the girl into position, sitting her on his left-hand side, she handed him a new book. 

“Has there been any post?” John asked before they began. The sister shook her head. 

“I sent the letter as requested to Rhodes, addressed Tacitus Kilgore but there has nothing in return.” John frowned, more concerned for his family than himself, perhaps they had to move quickly after the robbery. 

“One of the brothers visits a sick family outside of Rhodes. I am sure if you give him the address, he can stop by and tell your family you’re safe.” John shook his head, not wishing to reveal the transient nature of his criminal family to the sister. She had been so kind to him, he couldn’t bear the thought of her warmth toward him turning cold. 

“No, I am sure they will come when they can, if not, I should be well enough to travel in a few days. How is Jezebel?” He asked, his faithful Jezebel responsible for his survival. 

“Jezebel! What a name for a horse, she is fine Mr Marston, the children are enjoying her very much.” She smiled, checking over his bandages. 

“As long as they are careful, she can be impudent and unrestrained when she wants to be.” John smirked. 

“Ah, Jezebel by name, Jezebel by nature.” They laughed together much to Rose’s dismay, she wanted to read. 

“Whereas you are definitely a Rose covered with thorns.” She pinched her nose again and left them to their book. 

“Ok, what do we have today?” John picked up the book. “Alice in Wonderland, sounds odd but we will give it a go.” He began to read; his words didn’t flow with confidence but Rose didn't seem to mind. He wasn’t sure how much the girl understood, he wasn’t sure how much he understood, a line made him chortle: 

_ “But it’s no use now,” thought poor Alice, “to pretend to be two people! Why, there’s hardly enough of me left to make _ one _ respectable person!” _

“What's funny!” Rose enquired. 

“I know someone who likes to pretend to be different people and he is barely one respectable person.” John smiled, thinking of Arthur. 

“Who’s that?” She asked innocently. 

“My brother, Arthur. He can be many different people when he wants to be.” John shuffled to get comfortable. 

“Why??” Her blue eyes shone waiting for his response, he couldn’t provide one her young mind would understand. 

“I don’t know! Stop asking so many questions.” He tickled her, eliciting a squeal of joy. 

They read on into the night, until Rose was summoned for food. John couldn’t join them having been consigned to his bed by the sister, instead she brought his food to him. He was quite capable of feeding himself, but the sister always insisted on staying with him as _ it was lonely to eat on _ _ one’s _ _ own. _

“Mr Marston, I know you have no wish to discuss it, but I would like to know how you came by your injuries, please understand there is no judgement here.” John gulped. Until now he had managed to brush off their questioning, complaining of illness, with each day he improved it became harder to avoid. His injuries were such that they couldn’t be passed off as misadventure. He placed his bowl of stew on the side to cool, he couldn’t eat and regale her with his adventures at the same time. The sister could feel his reticence towards the matter, tried to reassure him. 

“I wasn’t always a nun; I had a life before joining the church. I did bad things, as all people do, it doesn’t make me a bad person.” She placed a hand on his. 

“I am sure no man who enjoys reading to children can be a bad man?” She raised an eyebrow awaiting his response. 

“I am a member of a gang, or a family of criminals might be a better description. Actually, I am part of a family, we chose not to follow the rules of society that closely, we believe they are wrong and stop a man from being free.” He frowned, babbling already. 

“I see” she said with her disarming smile. “I understand, please go on.” 

“My father became ill last year with pneumonia; we came to St Denis for him to convalesce.” John began to recite the whole sorry tale, why they were here, how they had come meet. She gasped at the revelation that his brother was the avenging Angel of the Chan Laundry massacre, then profusely thanked them for their intervention. In truth, he trusted the Sister implicitly, she had an aura of honesty about her. It unnerved him slightly, she personified everything he considered to be good, yet she was part of society he had been taught was bad. 

“We robbed a train; it was going fine and then the law turned up.” John rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how much detail to give.

“There was a gunfight…. We were winning, me and my Brother and then I got shot.” He recalled calling to Arthur _ that was close _. The burning rip, heated metal against flesh propelling him backwards, his footing lost sent him tumbling. The hard ground evaporated the air from his lungs, leaving him breathless and unable to call out to Arthur. The shock turned to adrenaline preventing him from losing consciousness, his heart racing speeding up his blood loss. The pain was still there, an unbearable sensation of assaulted skin, stinging and oozing. His mind was not clear, he felt dizzy and sick, struggling to coordinate any focussed movement. The memory of the noose around his neck as a young boy spurred on his instinct to survive. He managed to slide under the train, the blood gushing, mixing with the dry dusty ground, leaving a trail to his position. 

In the darkness he fumbled, attempting to find a hiding place. His fingers traced across what felt like a ledge, further inspection confirmed it was a beam, not large but wide enough to hold his skinny frame. Aware this was a risky strategy he un-looped his belt securing himself to the train. At least if he succumbed to unconsciousness, he would stand a chance of remaining on the train. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the growing panic. His hands shook uncontrollably, preventing him from inspecting his wound successfully. He groped around, the penetration of the wound with his own fingers made him kick in agony, biting hard on his lip, muffling the screams of pain. It was excruciating but necessary, the bullet had passed through, he recalled that was a good thing but couldn’t remember why. 

He tore a strip from his shirt, stuffing it into the wound, a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. He was making a mess, causing more pain but in this state, pain was good, pain was life. The torn rag instantly soaked with blood, confirming the trouble he was in. 

The distraction of wound management now gone, he could feel his mind surrender, adrenaline was giving way to shock, the loss of blood playing havoc with his thoughts. His eyes darted in the darkness, searching for him, willing him to appear. His eyes fluttered as a feeling of warm breath pricked against his skin, he drifted for a moment feeling those warm lips press against his own. _ You need to go _ , he thought, _ save yourself. _

_ I will never leave you John. _His breath hitched, feeling those calloused hands wrap around him, lift him up, he was flying. Bile rose in his throat, the burning unpleasantness placing him back in the darkness, a tear rolled down his cheek as the darkness consumed him, confirming that he was on his own. The flicker of amber lights woke him from his semi-conscious state, his instinct to call for help, his fist acting as a gag as the fog cleared, the cold steel of the beam reaffirming his predicament. 

The lights grew in numbers, their volume replicating the first sunburst of dawn. They moved forwards and backwards but always came back to where he was hiding. Gentle rasps of breath rattled from his lungs, his shallow breathing quieting his presence. Raised voices could be heard from above, whilst muffled and inaudible, blocked by the thudding in his ears. He could tell the passengers were about ready to riot, restless from their ordeal, they had no intention in allowing the law time to thoroughly investigate their crime screen. A deep grumbling southern man confirmed, “Move her on to St Denis, we will work on her there.” 

No recent memory in John’s short life could recall the agonizing discomfort of the one-hour train journey he took to St Denis. The steam engine muffling his guttural howls, as every rotation of the wheels nocked and bumped against his wounded shoulder. He took to biting his own hand to shock himself into lucidity, eventually that stopped having the desired effect. His mind becoming light and dizzy, he was fading again. Not the position he wished to be in, he still needed to plan his escape from the train. Work out where he would go, how he would get the appropriate medical attention without raising the alarm. 

_ Arthur _ , he called into the darkness, _ Arthur I think I am dying _. He began to sob, the realisation too much. Where was he, he promised he would always protect him, always be there when he needed him. There was never a time more than this that Arthur’s protection was needed. He cried aloud at his own stupidity. Arthur had spent a lifetime trying to teach him how to survive, just in case he wasn’t there. John too stubborn, too cock sure, full of hubris and the exuberance of youth, didn’t listen. Did Arthur always know this is how it would end? 

John believed a bullet was the romantic way to die, this was not romantic. This was a poor way to go, away from all who cared for him, his body tied to a train may never be found, those back home none the wiser. He couldn’t do that to them, not to Arthur. If he was going to meet his maker then they needed to know that he at least tried to live, he owed it to Arthur to try. 

The train slowed; the darkness of the swamps gave way to the eerie gas light of the city. He used every ounce of energy got unhook his belt, nothing but his own weight stopping him from falling on the tracks below. There was no chance he could thread through the wheels, the gaps not big enough and the speed of the train still too fast. He couldn’t let the train arrive at the station; law likely to be awaiting its arrival meant he would not escape. 

His only option was to fall on the tracks below and wait for the carriages to pass over him. In the darkness he couldn’t see if there was enough space, he was not an expert in the undercarriage of a train. Anything could hit him, mutilate him into a pulp, no one would know who he was or why he was there. 

It was now or never, he un-holstered his gun. Dropped down flat against the tracks and began to shoot. The light from his shots enough to identify what was coming towards him. He rolled to the right, screaming in agony, missing a piece of hanging metal. Then to the left, his eyes wincing with water, eventually he identified a ridge that ran in the centre, enough space for his meagre frame. He lay flat and still, closing his eyes tight, praying. The trains slow trundles seemed to last forever, its hypnotic rumbles at odds with his panicked erratic heart beats. 

He was sure he was dead. So sure, he couldn’t open his eyes, scared at what lay beyond the world he knew. His shallow breaths the only sound, like he was locked in a chamber, a cold dark chamber. Was this what hell felt like. A familiar nicker broke his thoughts, his eyes rolled open in time to witness a large tongue about to lick his face. 

“Jezebel! My favourite girl.” The words didn’t land in time to disrupt the lick. It’s wet and warm moisture was gross against his sensitive skin. John was elated to see his mount; he almost forgot his dire state. 

“Come on girl, help me up.” He grabbed her reigns, she moved forward enough for him to pull himself up. The crippling pain of his shot shoulder made him yelp, the noise ricochet of the empty carriages of the train yard. He was near the livery, far enough away not to be noticed by the gathering law. 

He mounted Jezebel with difficulty, the horse patient with him as he tried and failed several times to get seated. Finally mounted, he was unable to sit upright, hunched over, blood oozing from his shoulder. He managed to direct Jezebel with his working arm, another skill Arthur had taught him, riding one handed to shoot with the other. He directed her through the streets, there was only one place he could go. 

“That’s when I turned up here.” John paused pensively not sure if he revealed too much. 

“I am sure if Arthur could have saved you, he would have.” John froze, unaware he had mentioned the outlaw by name. 

“He sounds like a decent man, teaching you survival, did he teach you to read?” John blushed and nodded; he wasn’t the most patient, but he did help him. 

“You clearly mean a lot to each other; in this world it is important to have love and trust.” John nodded, if only she knew the extent of their love. His body quivered, did merely mentioning Arthur betray his feelings, even to strangers. 

“Thank you for your honesty John, I promise this is between us. It is a rather harrowing ordeal you have been through and the sooner we reunite you and Arthur the better. Now rest, it will heal your wounds.” Outside of her reserved nature she kissed John on the forehead, her tenderness reminding him of the kisses Arthur used to place on him when he had a nightmare. Care and love, it was in abundance, despite the state he found himself in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Course he ain't dead ;-)


	43. An Unwelcome Offer

The doctor arrived on his rounds, checking John’s wound. John recognised him instantly, having seen him visit Hosea multiple times. “You’re out of the woods, no sign of infection.” 

“Thanks Doctor.” John shook his hand in gratitude. 

“No, thank you, the Sister told me that it was you and your brother that saved the children.” John’s wolfish manner was evident, the news was not to be shared but the Doctor had always seemed trustworthy. 

“I don't know if I was much use to be honest.” John shuffled, he felt uncomfortable, not wishing to discuss their involvement in any great detail. 

“Nonsense, God moves in mysterious ways Mr Marston, he gives us purpose, your presence on that day was meant to be.” John chuckled, having no belief in God or his movements. 

“I think it was Gods day off when he was meant to be give me a purpose.” The doctor placed the stool next to the bed, preparing a cleansing slave to cover over the raw gunshot wound. His facial expression remained calm, a gentleman, well versed in being challenged by those with little or no faith, he considered it a sadness more than anything. 

“I understand that you are part of a gang of outlaws.” John frowned, she promised she would keep quiet, who else knew about his life? 

“Please don’t be mad at the Sister, she is worried for you.” He gently stroked the salve over the wound, John shuddered, not enjoying the closeness or the sensation. “I believe a man can seek redemption Mr Marston, if he chooses. Everyone deserves a second chance at life.” The doctor rubbed his jaw as he thought on his next words. 

“I would like to offer you a position, helping me in my shop. The pay is minimal but I can offer you a room with a bed and a chance to learn.” John's cupid-bow lips let out a gasp as the doctor finished cleaning around the wound. 

“That is a mighty kind offer but I need to get back to my family, they will be worried.” John’s eyes were dark, unsure what to make of the intrusion into his life, he could feel the wolf in him ready to pounce. 

“I cannot say that I understand, families are meant to keep each other safe. Want the best for each other. Not put each other in harm’s way.” John laughed sardonically to the notion of his family, all wrong. 

“There speaks a man who has never gone hungry for more than a day, eating comes before everything.” The doctor nodded, realising that he was provoking the boy, interpreting the situation from the lens of his well-heeled, educated world. 

“Please John, Arthur will also be welcome.” The Sister moved from the shadows having listened quietly, realising John was not easily won over by the Doctor’s perceived wisdom. 

“I am sorry Sister but you don’t know Arthur, there are far better people than me that failed to coax him from the outlaw life.” John huffed, having to remember the bizarre pecking order he now found himself. Isaac, Eliza, Mary, the all had a piece of Arthur’s heart, he was not only competing with ghosts but the knowledge that none of them were good enough for Arthur to leave Dutch. 

“I am sure if you ask him, tell him that you will both be safe with the doctor, he will understand. I can't believe he would want you to be in danger anymore.” John shook his head, this intervention was not welcome, how could he leave his family to work in an apothecary. It would be so dull, he was an outlaw, a gunslinger, a wild spirit that couldn’t be tamed. 

“There is nothing further to discuss sister, if I am out of the woods, I intend to leave, my family will be worried.” John allowed the doctor to finish wrapping his bandages before pushing the sheets back. Rising from the bed, his muscles screamed and contorted as they remembered what it was like to stand. 

“Please stay a bit longer, you are not well enough to travel.” The Sister reached for John and was quickly batted away, the boy having no patience to remain with these do-gooding busy bodies. 

“Don’t think me ungrateful, you both saved my life but it’s my life and I live it the only way I know how.” John was sullen, he couldn't turn his back on his family, the ones who raised him, taught him and loved him. The pair looked at each other with concern, both experienced in saving urchins from the streets, didn’t appreciate how deep into the lie John was. 

“Son, it feels like a family because that is what you want it to be but when the chips are down and things are desperate, do you really believe they will protect you? They already left you for dead on that train.” The doctor placed a hand on the boy's shoulder believing he was making progress. 

“Please stop now, I don’t want to leave on bad terms with either of you! We are a family; we always will be.” John recovered his fresh clean clothes, the bullet hole mended by the Sister so well it was barely noticeable. _ Not like Grimshaw's hatchet job _, he shook the thought, feeling guilty for the comparison. The Doctor said his goodbyes, unable to give more time to save such a lost soul. 

The Sisters face was serene with acceptance, as much as it irked her, she knew more than most that people were not necessarily designed to choose what was good for them, when their heart desired the bad. She could sense Arthur’s hold over him, described as a brother, she suspected more. Was he a force for good directed to evil doing or was he a malevolent influence controlling the young boy? She had seen too much of John’s nature to believe that there was any darkness in the boy, just a bit of dirt on the skin that could easily be washed clean. 

“Let me take you to Jezebel, she will probably need a feed before you go,” The pair walked out in the hazy afternoon, the smog thick mixed with the dust and dirt of the dilapidated court-yard. John struggled to see for a few moments, raising his hand to protect his eyes which hadn't seen direct sun light in days. He took a moment to compose himself to the realisation of how quickly his life had pivoted. Two months ago, he harboured a secret, he loved Arthur Morgan in more than a brotherly way. Two weeks ago, Arthur Morgan loved him in more than a brotherly way, repeatedly. Now having experienced enforced separation, all he wanted was his brother, the one that promised to protect him, the one that left him for dead at the train. He bit his lip, conflicted and confused, this was not Arthur’s fault, but if he’d found him or responded to the letter things would be different. It had been a whole week and nothing from any of them. Had they forgotten about him, assumed he was dead and just moved on? 

“Alice” a gentle tug of his trousers broke his thoughts. 

“Rose” he patted her on the head, acknowledging her presence, her bright blue eyes shone up as she repeated. 

“Alice.” This time her solemn stern frown alluded to her impatience. 

“I can’t right now, I promise I will read it to you later.” He gave her a toothy smile, it didn’t not plicate her any. 

“Please don’t make promises to her you won’t keep.” The Sister gently called, Jezebel trotting compliantly next to her. He now frowned; the pair had an uncanny resemblance, their colouring a contrast. Rose white as the pure snow, John dark and dirt but both took unwanted information with a petulant scrunch of the nose, a scowl of those sullen deep eyes and quiver of their cupid bow lips. 

“Ok, Alice it is.” He scooped the young girl into his arms, sitting them of the top step of the porch. They had book marked the previous location, nearing close to the end. They consumed so many books in such a short time, John lamented he might actually enjoy reading, take it up as a hobby. The Sister looked at them with adoring eyes, they seemed to fit so well together. She suspected that John was the type of soul that found his purpose in helping others, even if he didn’t yet recognise it in himself. 

The final words of the book “_ and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make _ _ their _ _ eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.” _

It tore at his heart, having found the book peculiar, he now understood. For all the hardships of adulthood, all the sorrows, there is always a childhood of wonder to reminisce and remember. A good person has that as their starting point, a stepping stone, a building block, helping them to be better. John didn’t have that, that wasn’t something he could change, not even finding security with the gang until he was twelve. A prostitute mother dead at birth, a sick father unable to support them, his life was pain personified. John had come to accept that as his lot but the true burden was Rose, she was beginning to follow the same path he did, if not worse. Where would she make her happy childhood memories, the ones she can call on in her times of sorrow, she had already witnessed far too much, experienced far too much. He closed the book and pinched her nose. 

“Rose, I need to go away for a few days.” She folded her arms in protest. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I need to go and get my brother, he needs to be here with us.” She shook her head, refusing to accept his words. 

“Look let me give you something to look after while I am away, then you know I will come back.” John reached into his pocket looking for his Onyx watch, too precious a gift not to return and collect. It was gone. _ Where and when? _he checked the other and his satchel, nothing. 

“Sister, did you find a watch on me when I arrived.” The Sister shook her head. 

“Was it important to you?” She enquired. 

“Yes, it was a birthday gift, the only thing I own worth having,” his face was forlorn, there was no way he would find it again, having travelled great distances. He always knew he would lose it, too careless in his nature to keep it safe. He embraced Rose, who was still waiting to receive a gift. 

“I promise I will be back” kissing her on the forehead he turned and kept walking, unable to look on those sullen disappointed eyes. Jezebel nickered with joy at his arrival. 

“My girl, did you miss me?” He mounted the horse in one fluid movement. His ordeal and injuries were healing and his youth allowed for such simple actions to return to him with ease, this was him he was a free spirit, born to be out in the wild. He raised a hand in the air, unable to look back, he would keep his promise eventually but first he must find his family, find out why they didn’t come for him. 


	44. The truth will set you free II

John arrived back in Scarlett Meadows late, reading Alice in Wonderland to Rose delayed his departure until late afternoon. The night was quiet and calm, the weather fine but cool, the icy grip of winter was encroaching on the autumnal warmth that could be felt this far south.

His mind raced through the possibilities, _had they abandoned him? Did they think he was dead? Were they even still there?_ _What would he do if the camp was abandoned? How would he find them?_ Even worse what if they were there, celebrating the spoils of the robbery, John not significant enough to be mourned for too long. He couldn’t cope with not knowing, the flux in his thoughts rippled tension through his shoulders as he stiffened at the possibilities.

Jezebel flew through the intruding darkness, enjoying the release, having spent a week penned up. Her body glistened, sweat rippled along every muscle. Her breath was warm in the cold air, steam rising up from her toned body. She grunted constantly, chewing against her bit as she pushed herself mercilessly to her owner’s command.

He slowed Jezebel down as they came to the avenue of trees that led to camp. He could hear his heart racing in his chest, the thudding beats deafening him. As they arrived, he dismounted Jezebel, the anguish weakening his legs, using his mount to support him, terrified of what awaited him. Whilst distraught, he couldn’t ignore camp rules, Susan would swing for him. He moved Jezebel over to the hitching post, even in the dark she instantly recognised her oldest friend Boadicea. They nickered a greeting and muzzled their heads in affection. John placed his head on both of them, at least Arthur made it back. He regained some strength in his weakened legs, Arthur being safe was enough to spur him on. 

The darkness gave way to the casual dancing light of camp. The odd gas light dotted around, for those prone to wandering at night could see the way. The embers of the fire still held warmth, life was around it probably an hour or so before. Dis-guarded beer bottle scattered on the ground, _perhaps they were celebrating, _his worst fear. Camp appeared much as it was when he left, nothing to suggest anything had changed. He clenched his jaw, his face flush, not being able to hide the feeling of betrayal, _why didn’t they come for him?_

Then he saw it, a wooden box, 6ft in length. He gulped; bile stung in his throat. He approached with trepidation, fearful and unknowing, he couldn’t jump to conclusions. He shook as his mind raced through the faces of his loved ones. The box was for a man which meant Susan and Mary-Beth were safe. Hosea, he had been ill for some time, but his father was short. Dutch to broad in the shoulders for such a slender box. He muffled a sob, the box too slim for Arthur’s muscular frame. A box for Sean or Javier, perhaps one of them didn’t make it back.

He approached the coffin, running his fingers across the wood, it was nailed shut. He peered past it, a large floral tribute lay beyond it, its colour concealed in the grey darkness. That was Arthur, he loved to make tributes to those who passed. His artistry most beautifully displayed using natures abundance, it was fitting gesture from the outlaw.

John inhaled the smoky air, resolving himself that the loss was not going to be as painful. As much as he enjoyed Sean and Javier’s company, they were not his family, not like the others. His eyes closed around a small box sat at the head of the coffin. He felt compelled to open the box, its positioning suggesting that it belonged to the soul now in entombed below. In the darkened hue of night John’s eyes failed to adjust. His touch instantly recognised the shape he was intimately acquainted with, the embossed texture of the case could only be his. His chest crushed in; the air expelled from his lungs as he struggled to stand. It was his coffin, he was dead, that is why they didn’t come for him. His mind raced distressed; _poor Arthur, poor Arthur thought he was dead_. His cowboy carried the dead with him, they haunted his dreams and his waking thoughts, he couldn’t bear the thought that he had done that to him, made him revive such sorrow and pain.

He ran to Arthur’s tent desperate to tell him he was alive. A noise halted him in his tracks. He remained still, unsure he heard it. Then it came again, that provocative drawl followed by a sensual groan of satisfaction. His face grimaced with the realisation of what it was. His stomach rolled; he bit his lip attempting to muffle the guttural animalist yell building deep within, as his heart tore in two. A tear descended his cheek as his world crashed around him, all the colours once vibrant and alive turned to grey as the betrayal dawned on him. 

His fluid gait moved with purpose to his leaders’ tent, the man he secretly hated, the man who challenged his place in the gang at every opportunity when no one was around to hear. The man who warned him off Arthur when he was sixteen. John trembled, realising that the warning that started all of this, that made him seek solace in Beth, delaying his admission of love, was not a warning from a leader, it was a warning from a lover. Dutch had got his way for years, was still getting his way. _John Marston you fool_ he thought to himself as he peered through the gap of their leaders’ tent, spying what he already knew. 

He didn’t care to stay long, resolute in his understanding, can’t compete with ghosts and can’t compete with Dutch. John chastised himself for having got dumber over the years not wiser. He took a deep breath and counted to ten, as Arthur had always taught him. His eyes rolled black, he felt himself harden, a stoic resolve washed over him. He was ready for a change and this was his opportunity, the only opportunity he would have to become his own man. He returned to the fire, grabbing a few beers that hadn’t been drunk, then he sort-out the truth in the only place he knew where to find it. Arthur’s journal.

John lay back on the older man’s cot, he tipped a nod to Isaac as he always did. The last innocent victim of Arthur Morgan’s betrayal, the man with so many secrets and so many lies that all he proclaimed to love paid the price with their lives. John noted that nothing had been written after the train robbery, _clearly been too busy with other things. _He flicked the page with ferocity searching the scrawl for any mention of Dutch.

_Saw Dutch in Rhodes today, he has a hair brained scheme about robbing a train. That man will be the death of me. I think he suspects John is my new friend. He tried to reinstate his friendship with me. Like a familiar scent from childhood, I will always be tempted but never fooled back into that man’s duplicity._

John bulked, Arthur never mentioned the meeting, the date when he was out with Mary-Beth. He felt so guilty about kissing her, admitting his failings as soon as Arthur was back. He mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. His fingers glide through pages and pages of thoughts, once upon a time he would have given anything to absorb each feeling and sentiment, not anymore, now he had a focus.

_Beth died; John is upset of course. I will miss the girl, she was welcome comfort on many a cold night, for both of us. I will always wonder if she would have been open to idea of marrying John if we had not enjoyed as many nights together. Can’t imagine many women agreeing to marry into a family when they experienced both brothers._

His lips twitched, not Beth. The only pure relationship he could recall having, tainted. His stomach flipped again. This time he was determined, as uncomfortable as it was, he needed to know all of it, the whole truth and not the lies he’d been told. He downed one of the bottles of beer and started another, courage.

_Hosea is dying I am sure, he has been unwell for weeks, in and out of consciousness the snow too thick for us to leave or get help. I went to him, even though I promised that I never would again, not after Annabelle. His touch is an addiction, it will always be, the sun and the moon and all the stars revolve around that man._

John smiled. There it was written in black and white; no one could deny. The long dead relationship that meant nothing was alive and full of fiery desire. Had John ever been referred to as Arthur's Sun, Moon and stars or did he just enjoy the scraps from Dutch’s table. He laughed sardonically; it was all a lie, John nothing more than a distraction when Dutch didn’t want him.

He placed the journal under the bed where he found it, kissed his hand and placed it on the photo of Arthur’s mother where Isaac lay hidden. He found Arthur’s secret stash, splitting it half, he couldn’t take it all. He was about to leave when his sight caught the cattleman, his cattleman resting atop Arthur’s shaving table. In a swift movement he placed it on his head, nodded one last time to all he held dear, the custodian of all Arthur held dear was leaving for good. Refusing to be a memory encapsulated in an object, photo, hat, he had a life worth living and for the first time he realised that life was not with Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to know everyone's opinion on this chapter, I am team John! He isn't even in the ground yet but I might be biased as I am writing the characters.


	45. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. This has been so much fun and wanted to thank everyone for their Comments and Kudos. I don't think this is the end as I have so many more stories to tell about these two and Beth who apparently was the run away star of the show. I am starting a new job next week so anything I do write will be a lot slower to release than this. I thought this was good place to end, everything broken, proper Red Dead style.

A shrill scream of terror broke the dozing silence of the camp. Lights flickered in confusion as the disorderly drunken members of the gang rushed towards the commotion. Their minds raced with fear, _were they under attack?_ Javier approached the scene with his gun cocked and ready. She lay unconscious, a dark shadow hovering above her corpse like body, trying his hardest to revive her.

“John!” Hosea said in disbelief, collapsing to his knees as he joined the impromptu reunion party. Javier sheathed his gun in realisation. Before John could react to the others, his wolfish eyes caught sight of Arthur. His torso bare, his jeans lying loosely on his hips as his belt clinked unfastened, the spectre of Dutch right behind him. His mind was lost for a moment, how he used to dream of that body walking with purpose and passion towards him. He caught a glimpse of the blue hue of his eyes, wild and chaotic as his mind fought to catch-up. There was a game to be played here, his original plan of disappearing without notice now destroyed by Susan’s night-time requirements for the lavatory. The family were all gathered as the weight of Arthur flew passed them like a charging bear, gathering John up in a flawless sweeping motion.

“I thought you were dead!” he cried into his ear, as he carried him from the gawping members of the gang, taking him deep into the woods where they could have some privacy. Each kiss and caress burned his skin, a sting of betrayal that could only be delivered by an unfaithful lover. He allowed it, intrigued by how far it could go. Could he push the older man to point he would admit the truth, unsure if he knew that John knew. 

“Where have you been?” Arthur quivered, his large calloused hands crushing against John’s skull.

“I wrote to you…” John’s voice crackled, he was not Arthur, he could be stoic in private but faced with the truth he was driven by raw emotion.

“We looked all over for you, your watch, your hat…They said you were dead.” He pulled him into an embrace, kissing every inch of his forehead.

“I hid under the train, must have lost them there. Rode the train to St Denis, got help from the Church in St Gasper.” John pushed him away, unable to bare the closeness.

“Be angry at me” Arthur said, acknowledging the glare of disappointment he faced so many times from the younger man. “I let you down, I promised to protect you and I failed.” Arthur smiled. “But I promise you now you are back, I am never letting you go.” He breached the space between them once again, trying to gain an inch of surrender from the boy.

“I am leaving the gang Arthur; I have a job working for an Apothecary. It’s not a lot but it is honest work.” His face was solemn as he said it, willing the sentiment to land.

“Don’t be stupid, you belong here with us. You are not some shop boy working for the man for a dollar a day.” Arthur stepped back placed his hands-on hips, stunned by the admission.

“How do you know what I am!” He bit back.

“Because we raised you, we raised you to be an outlaw, to live off the land, to answer to no man!” Arthur glared at the boy, thinking he must have hit his head something rotten in the accident.

“I answer to no man, except for Dutch, Hosea and you, feels like whatever I chose I will answer to some man.” John shifted on his hips, confidently. 

“Except some stranger in St Denis has my best interests at heart, can you say the same?” The words cut through Arthur, his muscles twitched, the disloyalty raising his ire.

“I saw you Arthur, I saw you with Dutch. I am not even in the ground and you went back to him.” John stepped forward, pushing the older man back.

“It weren’t like that John, I thought you were dead, I couldn’t face being alone, not again.” Arthur held up his hands in protest.

“But you have never been alone Arthur, you wouldn’t know alone if it slapped you in the face.” He listed the names carefully like a pastor reading a sermon of those recently departed. “Mary, Eliza, Dutch, me and Beth.” The realisation dawned; John had read his journal

“I can explain!” His drawl tinged with anger from the intrusion. John punched him square in the face. The older man reacted out of instinct pushing the boy to the ground. They tussled, Arthur trying to control the wild force of John, the younger wolfish, fighting for dominance. As with all their fights it was sloppy, neither truly wanting to hurt the other. They rolled in the detritus of the autumnal season, twigs and leaves littering their bodies. Arthur pinned John to the ground, his weight too much for the skinny frame to compete with. A flash of the doe eyes momentarily shelved Arthur’s anger, his crystal blues melting and solemn.

“You took everything from me.” John sobbed. “You pretended to help me; you knew I loved you.” Arthur pulled back, empathising with the feeling of being used. “You took my first kiss, you took my virginity, you took the only women I will ever love.” John’s body shook with anticipation, there was no going back. 

“Once you had it all, I became a footnote in your journal, like all the others you pretend to love.” Those last words landed with bile and venom tore at every fibre of Arthur’s being. “I will never forgive you Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur rose to his feet, instantly stumbling back landing against a tree. A dagger penetrated his heart at the realisation that his brother John, the person he loved most in the world didn’t know him at all. John could feel the defeat in him, having never witnessed Arthur back down from a fight his frame seemed smaller. John rose to his feet, wiping down the mess of leaves and twigs from his previously clean clothes, regaining his composure.

“I had nothing when I joined this gang and I still have nothing, at least I know what something is.” John was calm, the timbre of his voice cool and collected. “You have thrown away every chance you have ever had to be happy and what for…Dutch.” He closed the space between them determined to hurt him. “I ain’t you Arthur Morgan, I am not wasting my life pining after something that will never be mine.” John brushed off his cattleman placed it on his head. 

Arthur walked with purpose back to camp, each footstep thundered with anger. John followed a few feet away, the space between them a cavernous expanse growing with every step. The gang were settled around the fire, Javier trying to reignite it for warmth.

“Johnny boy is leaving us.” Arthur hollered as they came into sight. Gasps of shock called out from the group.

“No John!” Susan reached for the boy she always considered to be her own. Arthur paid no mind to the concern of the camp set about dismantling the floral tribute with force.

“I want this coffin out of camp by morning!” He proclaimed. The family well versed in Arthur’s rare but all-encompassing fits of anger drew together, creating a barrier between the two, fearful of violence.

“Whatever has happened between you two we can fix it.” Hosea said sensitively. “You two are always falling out of something.” John went to speak to calm the fears of the older man, the only man who had treated him like a son, was interrupted.

“This can’t be fixed.” Arthurs drawl was commanding. “If you are going then go and don’t come back.” Arthur pointed to John through the throng of people, that look saved for those he was about to kill placed firmly on him.

John hugged Susan and then Hosea, neither quick enough to enjoy the embrace. He moved swiftly towards the hitching post where Jezebel stood waiting. The pair followed him, begging, pleading for him to stay. Dutch and Javier remained still by the fire, both seemingly aware of the true reasons behind the break in relations. John mounted Jezebel, Hosea grabbed his leg in one last attempt not to lose him forever.

“Write to us son, let us know you are ok?” The old mans withered eyes were full of concern, almost breaking John’s resolve. 

“My letters go unanswered.” He kicked Jezebel, the pair speeding off into the darkness, the howling cries of Susan the chorus call of his old life ending and his new beginning.


End file.
